


Meteors

by yakuso5u



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 95,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakuso5u/pseuds/yakuso5u
Summary: There is only one truth, Changmin believes, and only one question – is it the one you want?There is only chance, Yoochun thinks – the meteor crashes, or it doesn’t. And if it does the only question is, will you run fast enough or let the stars collide?





	1. Of questions and answers

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this is painfully, agonizingly SLOW, and in many ways a characters study rather than a romance plot. This sort of story is not everyone's cup of tea and I suppose a warning is needed: here, you've been warned. I hope you'll enjoy anyway! ;-)

Yoochun has a theory about life. He came up with it when he was nine – the day he was told one big stone from space blasted a once-cool world roamed by dinosaurs. He confirmed it three years later, rooted in front of his TV as the Titanic ran into the universe’s most famous iceberg. He got definite proof when he learnt that his dad met his mom because one evening he got on the wrong train.

You don’t decide of the important things – that’s Yoochun’s guideline in life.

The logical outcome was decreeing that working hard for what he wanted was just as efficient as waiting for it to come true. Sometimes Yoochun thinks he might be a tad lazy. Usually he congratulates himself on reaching the height of wisdom at such an early age.

But as the dinosaurs’ unfortunate fate should have taught him, the Universe doesn’t look kindly upon species set on _not_ evolving, and one day someone up there decided that what Yoochun needed was a meteor of his own. The kind that sparks off a chain reaction, and looking back much, much later, that has you wondering at how you wouldn’t want things to be any other way.

 

Yoochun’s meteor hits him at 19, deviously shaped as a phone number.

At three in the morning, Yoochun forgot what they’re celebrating after who knows how many beers and soju bottles; no one bothers to keep count as long as they enjoy continued supply. There are seven of them crammed in Jungmoo’s tiny studio, talking and laughing loud, lost in a stuffy haze of smoke – your usual cigarettes plus some of that not quite legal stuff Myungbo gets from his cousin. Music, alcohol, worlds to reinvent before morning comes and reality crashes back down.

Yoochun is caught in a fierce debate about crap-you-must-do-before-turning-20 when Jungmoo gets an idea.

“Guuuys!!!” he bawls, waving his phone around and nearly taking Jaejoong’s eye out in the process. Then he dares them to call the number right before their own, following numerical order. He saw it on a TV show. It takes long minutes of tedious explanations before they all get the gist of it but then they’re wasted, and quickly agree the idea is brilliant.

They sit in a circle on the floor, wherever they find space, and Yoochun ends up wedged between Jaejoong and the fridge. Jungmoo solemnly asks for silence and dials a number amidst a concert of drunken ‘ssshhh’ and stifled laughs. Someone picks up after the fourth ring.

“Hello…?”

“It’s a guy!” Yongsik murmurs excitedly. Jaejoong looks about to put in his two cents and Yoochun quickly claps a hand over his mouth, wary of the shitty stuff Jaejoong blurts out when he’s drunk – though Jaejoong also blurts out shitty stuff when he isn’t drunk. Jaejoong blurts out shitty stuff _all the time_ , but it doesn’t get on Yoochun’s nerves as badly when they are both sober.

“Who’s it?” they hear a sleepy voice ask.

“The President” Jungmoo answers loftily.

Yoochun bites down on Jaejoong’s arm to repress a giggle because _that_ is incredibly funny. Jaejoong flings an arm out in an attempt to retaliate and bumps his head against the fridge instead.

“What?”

“President… you know…” and Jungmoo engages in a slurred version of the national anthem.

The guy hangs up with a mumbled “idiots” that no one hears amidst roars of laughter. Jungmoo stands up, a hand over the left side of his chest, holding a can up in the air – upside down, but it’s nearly empty and Yongsik doesn’t even notice the beer dribbling on top of his head – still singing, sending them all back into a fit of convulsive laughter. Yoochun manages to spot Myungbo’s face through his tears, darker than a red light and nearly as round. It looks like he stopped breathing and Yoochun wonders if you can really die of laughter. After that he isn’t too sure what happens, or in what order.

At some point Jaejoong talks to an old woman who calls him “pervert” when he calls her “honey”, so he calls her “pervert” in turn and she starts swearing copiously, with no result other than making Jaejoong howl “pervert” louder and louder until she hangs up with a huff. The guy that Yongsik calls skips preliminaries, going straight to an imaginative flow of insults that Yongsik punctuates with resigned hiccups. Someone threatens to call the cops. Then it’s Yoochun’s turn.

The others are utterly smashed at that point. Jungmoo is slumped on the floor with his ass sticking out, snoring blissfully. Myungbo is peering hopefully inside the rice-cooker in search of a surviving beer. Jaejoong keeps giggling and muttering “pervert”. The rest of them is equally useless, a mess of limbs and clothes with no clear identity.

Yoochun needs a few seconds to remember his own phone number – which ends with 12 – and a lot more to convince himself that 11 is indeed before 12. Right. He’s laughing to himself as he dials the number. He’ll say nothing. Just breathe loud like in horror movies, and if it’s a girl it’ll scare her to death. His victim picks up right after the third ring and Yoochun holds his breath, listening.

“It’s 4AM.”

A guy, too bad. He doesn’t sound upset. He doesn’t even sound sleepy. Just his luck. Yoochun’s intoxicated mind scrambles for something to say and manages an inarticulate string of curses.

“…Who is it?”

Yoochun thinks hard, remembers his phone number, and decides he’ll be mysterious.

“I’m 12.”

“Are you sure?”

“…What?”

“You sound older than that.”

Yoochun doesn’t get it at once. Then it dawns on him and he giggles, pushing away Jaejoong who apparently decided to use him as his pillow for what remains of the night.

“No… no!! I’m 12! You’re 11.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yeah… I- get off me Jae!”

“Who’s Jae?”

“My friend.”

“PERVERT!!!” Jaejoong yells in the phone and collapses back on Yoochun’s lap, laughing hysterically.

“Your friend is drunk too” the guy comments. Yoochun is delighted he understands so well.

“You’re interesting” he blurts out. He hears the guy laugh and straightens up, very proud of himself. On his right, Myungbo trips over nothing and plants his face into the orange lino, swearing profusely.

“Myungbo is drunk too” Yoochun babbles on, for some unknown reason feeling like he really needs to explain “but he… it’s cos of Jungmoo…”

“Why?”

“He got the idea” Yoochun starts giggling again. “He sang…”

He stops, frowning – why so many letters in ‘national anthem’. He sings it instead and the guy laughs, and says he’s interesting too. Yoochun decides he really likes him.

“I really like you” he declares solemnly. He remembers nothing after that.

 

When he wakes up the next day, disoriented and vaguely nauseous, Yoochun is only sure about two things: he has one heck of a headache, and Jaejoong might spill shitty stuff all the time but he’s exceptionally annoying when he has a hangover.

“Feels awful…”

“Mmh…”

“Yoochuuun...”

“…”

“Yoochuuuuuuun…!!”

“What?”

“I’m going to die.”

“No.”

“I’m going to die. I’m too young to die… I never went to Disneyland!!”

“You hate Mickey.”

“I hate _mice_. They’ve sneaky-sneaky eyes…”

“…”

“Yoochuuuuun…”

“…”

“Don’t ignore me!!”

Something sharp jabs painfully into his ribs and Yoochun cracks an eye open. He makes out black hair with rice cracker crumbs stuck in it, and what must be the tip of Jaejoong’s chin.

“You fell asleep on top of me” he groans, trying to push the other away.

“Better than the floor” Jaejoong mumbles, crushing his knee as he moves further on top of him to get more comfortable. It’d be cute if Jaejoong was a cuddly cat, but as it is Jaejoong is a 20 years old with pointy elbows and weighing much more than what his scrawny shape proclaims.

Yoochun is about to protest when Yongsik tells them to shut up. Yongsik is normally inoffensive but he experiences serious split personality problems when he’s a hangover. Yoochun deems it wiser not to say anything and he stays still and silent, staring lifelessly at the ceiling, until he hears his phone vibrate close. He gropes around until his fingers brush against something hard. He takes it and squints, wishing his eyes would be more willing to cooperate.

_▪ You fell asleep ^^_

No sender name, just a phone number. Yoochun frowns. His fingers aren’t cooperating either, the dead weight called Jaejoong isn’t helping, and it takes a while to answer.

_Wh oare yu_

_▪ You don’t remember?_

_??_

_▪ I’m 11. That’s what you said._

11\. Yoochun frowns harder, with the vague hope that it’ll help him grasp something right on the edge of his consciousness. As if on cue Jaejoong starts mumbling in his sleep. ‘Pervert’ – it sounds like. Yoochun suddenly remembers and immediately wishes he hadn’t. His phone vibrates again.

_▪ I take it that you remember now… ^^_

In other circumstances, Yoochun would’ve found a smart answer. Right now though, his mind is blank as a cotton field, his head hurts like a dozen drunk elephants are holding a wild samba contest in there, and aspirin and good comeback lines are nowhere in sight.

_Akghkgzlef_

Yoochun presses _‘send’_ , swearing to himself he’ll never drink that much again.

 

That’s how it starts.

 

11 doesn’t tell him his name, Yoochun doesn’t say his either. After another short exchange of random texts (with a lot of teasing on one part and many _akjhkhrd_ on the other), they find that something clicks, somehow. Years later, Yoochun will sum it up as “we were just both weirdoes, you know what they say about feathers flying in flocks” and a familiar voice will shoot back “don’t use expressions you don’t understand” followed by a stern but tad indignant “and I am _not_ a weirdo”.

A week after the first messages, Yoochun is the one who suggests that they send each other one question per day. Texting 11 is fun and he’d like it to continue for a bit, whatever the pretext. _We’ve to answer the truth_ , he adds. 11 readily agrees, only asking that those questions will have nothing to do with their identity. _Sure_ , Yoochun answers – after all 11 could be a psychopath on a rampage, and he’s not too sure he could be defined as “sane” himself – and immediately gets a new message.

_▪ What are you most afraid of?_

Yoochun hesitates. The truth, they said. Who cares anyway?

_Ghosts._

_What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?_

_▪ Crossing the road without looking ^^_

Yoochun barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling happily. Then he looks up and curses out loud when he realizes he’s missed his stop. He rushes out of the bus, oblivious of the looks people are shooting at him and at his purple hair – a stupid lost bet, but the stupider the bet, the more seriously Yoochun takes it.

                                                                                               

 

_What do you hate most?_

_▪ Cockroaches_

_▪ It’s 2AM, why aren’t you sleeping?_

_Had a nightmare_

_▪ What’s your favorite color?_

_Boring_

_▪ Just answer_

_Blue_

_What do you want to do right now?_

_▪ Eat ^^_

_Should have guessed…_

 

_What do you call an elephant that flies?_

_▪ A Dumbo jet_

_▪ And that’s a really lame joke_

_It’s Jae’s favorite :P_

_▪ How long have you known Jae?_

_5 years_

 

 

It’s the first hour of the first class of the first day back to university after the holidays break, and Yoochun is bored out of his mind – half-collapsed on his desk, chin resting on his crossed arms, watching around dully as everyone else dutifully take notes down. All good students they are, he thinks sullenly… rule-abiding, do-gooders, fitting snuggly within society’s narrow standards. Not that Yoochun is going down the path of delinquency, but he at least tries not to play the sheep part.

He wonders why he even bothered with the giant farce university is proving to be.

Heck, he’d like to know why he’s studying business marketing when his dream job has been journalism all along – then he remembers it was that or bury himself in the happy world of insurances. Car insurances. Health insurances. Life insurances. All sunny perspectives. Yoochun _loves_ his dad, but he’d rather not follow his steps and spend his life dealing with the problems normal people just don’t want to deal with.

He takes his phone out and starts typing a message, ignoring the scornful looks he’s getting from the guy on his left – the one who thinks the world is a cruel jungle where people eat each other and you’ve got to strike them dumb before they attempt anything cos they all think of nothing but personally making your life hell from the moment they say ‘hi’. Yoochun thinks said guy probably has lots of problems at home and a few more in his head.

_Do you sometimes feel like you’re living the wrong life?_

Yoochun stares at his text and scowls, annoyed at himself. He erases it before sending another one. Then he flashes a smirk at his neighbor just for the sake of seeing him fidget on his chair and stare warily, maybe assessing the probability of Yoochun hiding an ax under his desk.

_What do you do when you’re bored?_

_▪ I’m never bored_

_You’re no fun…_

_▪ I see something red, what is it?_

Yoochun beams. He spends the next thirty minutes furiously typing on his phone trying to guess the answer – not 11’s socks, not his bag, not a goldfish, not ketchup, not something alive, not something you can eat, not something sticky, not a pimple, not a Santa hat, not something that smells… It continues after class, on his way back home, during dinner and in his bed. He surrenders at 11pm.

_You won_

_▪ Really?_

_Yeah._

_▪ It’s a bit disappointing_

_Don’t push it_

_▪ ^^_

_Come on, what was it?_

It turns out to be the color of Thailand on the world map in 11’s classroom today.

_… I’m going to kill you_

_▪ You asked for it_

_I’m going to kill you anyway_

_Round 2 tomorrow. You’ll regret this._

_▪ As you say_

_▪ Good night ^^_

_Good night :)_

 

 

_▪ What’s the time of the year you hate most?_

_October 24 th. Do you have a driving license?_

_▪ No_

 

 

_▪ Why October 24 th?_

_It’s the day my parents told me they wanted to get a divorce._

_If I asked you to choose one letter in the alphabet?_

_▪ A_

 

 

_▪ So did your parents get divorced?_

_No. Can you do a handstand?_

_▪ Yes, if there’s someone to hold my legs up_

_That’s a ‘no’ then_

_▪ But before I could do cartwheels ^^_

_Fascinating_

_▪ On one hand!_

Yoochun rolls on his back on the bed, smiling amusedly. 11 rarely keeps their convos going once the questions have been sent and answered (and on any other day he’d have ended it at ‘yes’), unless he feels bad about something. Apologies of sorts. For having insisted.

 

 

Yoochun throws his brother a helpless look that goes entirely ignored as Yoowhan pretends to be absorbed in playing games on his phone. Yoochun scowls and concentrates. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can teleport himself somewhere else.

Family reunion this afternoon – the utterly pointless sort. Yoochun is confident their parents don’t need help to make the perfect choice for the living room’s new wall paint color.

“I thought Tumbleweed would be good but your father-”

“However you call it, it’s _pink_.”

“Or Havana Cream…”

“That’s pink as well!”

“ _Fine_. Maybe you could stop being a jerk and propose something! You only-”

“I told you that yellow-“

“You _won’t_ put Canary all over _my_ living room.”

“It’s _mine_ too!”

“Yoochun, Yoowhan, say something!”

Yoowhan sinks deeper into the couch and mumbles unintelligibly. So much for solidarity between siblings – have Yoochun’s lengthy teachings about unbreakable brotherly bonds left such a fugitive impression? Yoochun kicks him in the shin and quickly grabs his phone.

_EMERGENCY!! Yellow or pink?!_

_▪ Neither_

_Come on!!_

_▪ Beige ^^_

“Yoochun??”

He looks up and meets both his parents’ expectant faces.

“Beige” Yoochun says brightly. His father looks at his mother, his mother looks at his father, and he sighs in relief as both seem to actually like the idea. How lame.

_You’re a life savior <3_

_▪ Something you’d like to do someday but never told anyone before? ^^_

Here he goes, Yoochun thinks, smiling to himself. Pushing it, but he rather likes it when 11 dares.

_Get a tattoo_

 

 

_The first thing you do in the morning?_

_▪ Open my eyes ^^_

_Smart…_

_▪ Look right in front of you, what do you see?_

_The street, through my window_

_It’s raining_

_There’s a dog_

_A wet dog, since it’s raining_

_Probably stinks_

_Or maybe not… I don’t know if it’s true wet dogs stink_

_I’m allergic to dogs so I can’t go and check_

_▪ Stop spamming_

_:P_

_< 3_

_▪ Idiot_

_< 3_

_▪ Stop it_

_< 3_

 

 

_▪ Have you ever dreamt you were flying?_

_No_

_Have you?_

_▪ Once_

_…last night, I suppose_

_▪ ^^_

 

 

_▪ What do you do when you’re sad?_

This one makes Yoochun stop in the middle of street, although he’s already late and every second increases the probability of Jae trying to behead him once he finally reaches the mall.

_I go out with some friends._

After that he hesitates, not sure about the best way to probe. Yoochun settles for something simple, hoping 11 will catch on.

_Say the 1st word that comes to your mind?_

_▪ Lonely_

And this one tugs at his heart.

 

_Ever been abroad?_

_▪ Yes. What’s your favorite book?_

_Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_

_▪ Interesting._

_I love it ok, no need to make fun of it_

_▪ I said it was interesting, not that it was funny._

_▪ And I like it too_

_Let me guess_

_It has to do with all that chocolate_

_▪ Can’t hide anything from you ^^_

 

_▪ Are you afraid of thunderstorms?_

Yoochun looks out the window in time to see lightning rip the dark sky open, the blinding flash of light immediately followed by a low rumble that momentarily covers the sound of pouring rain.

_No. Where are you now?_

_▪ On my way home_

_Tell me when you get there_

_▪ ^^_

 

 

_▪ What’s the best Christmas present you ever had?_

_My first bike._

_What’s the worst Christmas present you ever had?_

_▪ A saltshaker_

_▪ Please don’t ask_

_Tomorrow :P_

_▪ =_=_

_Merry Christmas!!_

_▪ Merry Christmas ^^_

 

 

Two weeks before his 22nd birthday, Yoochun gets in a fight with his boyfriend. It’s nothing serious – just something about how Yoochun _might_ have stared a little too long at some guy in second year and how he _might_ have smiled to him afterwards. But they fight for the sake of it, shout indignant reproaches at each other’s face, then Yoochun storms out of the small store they’re in.

He doesn’t see the car coming too fast on his left. All goes black in a split second, before he even gets to realize it hurts.

He stays unconscious for two days and wakes up on the third, much to the relief of his family and of a teary Jaejoong – who bypasses all conventional comments about how worried he was and how awful Yoochun looks to announce happily that he scared his now ex-boyfriend away with threats of denouncing him to the police for unpremeditated murder attempt.

It’s another two days before Yoochun remembers and asks for his phone. There are a dozen missed calls and more messages than he can count but he’s only interested in a few.

_▪ Do you like sunset or sunrise better?_ – he reads on the first.

_▪ Are you ok?_ – on the second.

_▪ Are you ok?_

_▪ Are you ok?_

_▪ Are you ok?_

It’s surely the medicine and weariness that make Yoochun want to cry, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s now single, unless it’s because the sun is shining really hard outside. Of course that idiot would stick to the ‘one question per day’ rule.

_I’m sorry, something happened but it’s fine now_

The answer comes in a heartbeat.

_▪ Are you ok?_

_I’m fine_

Yoochun doesn’t deem it necessary to talk about a couple broken ribs and his right leg in a cast, and of course the fact that he’s now single.

_You were worried?_

And so that day’s question is a pointless one with an obvious answer, but for some reason Yoochun wants to see it written. Tangible. Right in front of his eyes.

_▪ Yes._

_▪ Don’t do that again, please._

This one leaves a warm print on his heart.

 

 

_▪ Something you’re proud of?_

_I can hold my breath for more than 2 minutes_

_What are you doing right now?_

_▪ Holding my breath_

_▪ …_

_51 seconds. Nice try :P_

_▪ Whatever_

_▪ You’re so weird_

_You’re so jealous_

_▪ I’m not_

_You hate losing_

_▪ That’s a silly game. I don’t care._

_You’re jeaaalous_

_▪ I tell you I don’t care_

_Jealous_

_▪ Whatever_

_J_

_E_

_A_

_▪ How childish can you get?_

_L_

_O_

_U_

_S_

_▪ Seriously_

_:))))_

_▪ Don’t you have someone else to annoy?_

_They aren’t half as funny as you_

_Hey?_

_Don’t be mad_

_▪ 1 minute 5 seconds_

_…should’ve guessed_

_Well good luck_

_Tell me when you give up_

_▪ 1 minutes 8 seconds_

_And try not to die_

 

 

_What country do you want to visit most?_

_▪ Italy_

_▪ How long has it been since we started this game?_

Yoochun contemplates the question, tuning out the noisy banter of the bar a friend’s friend invited him to. The guy looks good enough and is obviously interested. Too bad Yoochun isn’t.

“What day is it today?” he asks out-of-the-blue, interrupting the young man’s lengthy narration of the last baseball game he went to see with his favorite uncle.

“Err… 27th… no, 28th November,” the guy answers once he processed the sudden change of subject, glancing at his watch, “it’s just past midnight.”

Yoochun smiles to himself, unconcerned by the questioning look on his companion’s face.

_Three years :)_

 

 

The realization that it’s been three years since that “thing” with 11 began soon starts weighing on Yoochun’s mind, nagging at him more insistently with every new message he gets. He still calls it a “thing”; it can hardly be defined as anything more specific – it’s more than a game and different from a friendship, and that ambiguity may be the reason why it has been lasting for so long.

Yoochun isn’t good at keeping in touch with people. Or rather, he doesn’t care much and he found out early that others soon get tired of one-sided friendships. As it is, three years is longer than the longest he ever kept a friend – Jaejoong excepted and that’s only because Jaejoong is the clingy sticks-to-you-like-glue-if-you-come-too-close kind of guy. Three years is also much longer than any relationship he had, by far – maybe even longer than all of them put together. And said relationships arguably meant even less to Yoochun than the short-lived friendships he formed.

In those three years, he texted 11 much, much more than his own brother. He told him stuff that’d have his mother do a double take and wonder if Yoochun is indeed her son. He told him stuff _Jaejoong_ doesn’t know about, and that’s saying a lot since Jaejoong’s favorite pastime could be summed up as stalking Yoochun’s life.

In those three years he learnt every extraneous trivia there’s to know about 11, from his lucky number to his childhood dreams, the fact that he vowed undying love to chocolate (in all its shapes, however and wherever you’d find it), that he’s a morning person, doesn’t know how to swim, worships One Piece, likes winter, hates soccer, and throws in those damn ‘^^’ whenever he gets the chance – and _that_ always has him wondering what 11’s smile could be like; the real thing.

Yoochun could easily write the Wikipedia page about him, but for the first four lines.

He doesn’t know his name.

He doesn’t know how old he is, what he looks like and where he lives – though countless hints lead him to believe that like him, it must be Seoul. He doesn’t know about his studies, family, friends, lovers and acquaintances; what his days are made of beyond the polished veneer of a few chosen words and a cell phone screen. Three years later, he forgot the sound of his voice.

It bothers him more and more. And more and more, he isn’t sure why he doesn’t dare.

Yoochun has come to look forward to every day because of a few text messages, and to attach more importance to snippets of a stranger’s life than to the big events happening in his own. It has long stopped being about random questions, and became all about finding roundabout ways to _know_.

_▪ Do you like the sea or mountains better? ^^_

It could be a random pick. It could be 11 arranging a trip with friends, or a girlfriend maybe. It could be 11 reminiscing past holidays. It could be 11 feeling listless or dreamy, and typing the first question that came to mind. It could be a dozen different reasons, and Yoochun is getting tired of guessing.

_The sea._

He frowns.

Hesitates.                                                                                    

Sighs.

Threads a hand through long locks of dark hair, thinking absently that it’s time he cuts them and wondering why he feels so nervous. His fingers hover above the screen a moment more before Yoochun takes the plunge, types a few words and sends today’s question.

He leaves money on the table, greeting the owner as he leaves the restaurant – ‘restaurant’ being the gracious way to call it. It’s more of a survival ramyun shop for people like him who have no time to waste and even less money, but it’s homely and close to the convenient store where he currently works (just a part-time job, he insists, so that his parents won’t freak out, but the truth is that Yoochun likes selling Oreos and waterless hand cleaners more than planning sales strategies).

 

_Can we meet?_

 

11 doesn’t answer that day. He doesn’t answer the next one, and Yoochun anxiously battles the sneaking suspicion that he made a wrong move. When the third day comes, he starts considering eating his fingers since there are no nails left for him to gnaw on. Luckily 11 is good with timing and saves Yoochun’s left thumb from cannibalism.

_▪ Ok._

This one cruelly lacks a cushioning ‘^^’, but sends Yoochun’s heart beating twice too fast all the same.

 

 

They quickly agree about the place and time. Yoochun pushes it a little since he’s scared 11 will reconsider and decide he doesn’t want to meet after all. He can tell the other is quite reluctant – no surprise here, clearly 11 was never part of the happy-go-lucky bunch of popular kids at school, and would probably pass off as a recluse on a good day – but now that he agreed, Yoochun can’t bear the idea of _not_ seeing him. Hearing. Talking. Knowing.

The real thing.

Maybe 11 is a 28 years old otaku who wears the same dirty T-shirt all week and has crisps permanently ingrained at a corner of his mouth. Maybe he’s 18, a snooty pimply little genius with his nose in books all day long. Maybe he’s a 21 goth-look adept with mutant spiders tattooed on each arm and a couple pet rats. Maybe he’s 24, handsome, rich, and has nothing better to do than bring Yoochun along on trips to Cannes and Las Vegas.

Maybe.

Saturday, 3pm. Myeongdong station.

 

 

_▪ How do I make sure it’s you?_

_▪ I mean, how do I recognize you?_

Saturday, 3am. Yoochun has been lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for four hours straight, and he’s very glad to know it’s not just him feeling nervous.

_I’ll have roses ready for you honey~ <3_

_▪ I’m serious…_

_In front of the hotel, on the left when you leave the subway station. I’ll wait there._

_▪ Ok_

_▪ I can’t sleep_

Yoochun rolls on his stomach, feet tangled in the heap of rumpled sheets at the bottom of the bed. He surrendered to the fact that he was now facing a sleepless night, the first in many years – ever since he could finally convince himself that yes, his parents would stay together, and _yes_ , family drama was over. If anything, it says how much that encounter with 11 matters to him. Not that Yoochun will ever tell him.

_Do you want me to call you?_

_▪ No_

_▪ I’ll try to sleep_

_▪ You should do the same_

_Alright, see you later :)_

Yoochun counts till 100, waiting for a ‘^^’ that doesn’t come. He sighs heavily and plants his face into his pillow, aware that the next 12 hours will seem to him longer than the past three years.


	2. Of first meetings and times that count

Saturday, 3pm, Myeongdong station.  
  
Yoochun arrived 45 minutes early and since he had nothing better to do, he went to buy red roses at a nearby shop, thinking it’d be funny. Now he feels a lot stupid though. He’d gladly get rid of the flowers by giving them to the first pretty girl that passes by, except they were _expensive_. So he lets the bouquet hang awkwardly by his side and tries not to wince at the knowing looks he’s getting. Ok so maybe choosing a hotel as meeting point wasn’t such a good idea.  
  
At least it distracts him a little from the feeling of nervous anticipation that built up all day long, making his heartbeat strained and his chest constricted. Yoochun has no idea why he’s so anxious. He sighs for the umpteenth time in the past hour, looks down to glare halfheartedly at the roses in his hand, looks up, and finds himself facing the brightest smile he’s ever seen.  
  
Before he knows it, he’s grinning from ear to ear.  
  
He doesn’t need to ask. It’s all in the mirth dancing in clear brown eyes, and the excitement and slight embarrassment coloring a youthful face where childhood has yet to completely withdraw.  
  
A little stunned, Yoochun takes a small step forward. He realizes belatedly that he’s been holding his breath and empties his lungs from air all at once, at the same time releasing the question he’s been dying to ask for months. In front of him, 11 spoke too. The exact same words.  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
Both their smiles widen, brown eyes going mismatched while black ones narrow to a happy crescent.  
  
“Yoochun” Yoochun says, thrusting the damn bouquet forward and into a warm hand.  
  
“Changmin” 11 says, “you look exactly like I thought you would.”  
  
“Glad not to disappoint.”  
  
11 – no, Changmin… _Changmin_ , Yoochun thinks beatifically – Changmin laughs, head tilted to the side, eyes twinkling merrily, hands fumbling with the bouquet like he doesn’t quite know what to do of it. His face still flushed in mixed amusement and shyness. Not relaxed yet but so obviously happy that Yoochun instantly feels as if he’s known him his entire life.  
  
_The real thing_ , he thinks, putting his hands deep inside his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet and very aware of the way Changmin’s eyes don’t leave him. Yoochun as well is still staring.  
  
The real thing.  
  
  
  
After a few more words, haphazard yet easy, Changmin tells him that he knows a good coffee shop in the area, a bit expensive, “but it has a great choice of drinks” he says. Yoochun would have stayed here, in the street, but a glance at the menacing sky above convinces him it might not be a good idea.  
  
He follows Changmin without paying much attention to their surroundings, slightly overwhelmed by the flow of new information suddenly flooding his senses after years of sparsely disclosed answers.  
  
His frame, height, pace and clothes; a grey woolen scarf, jeans and worn sneakers. Tall… taller than him – Yoochun knew since he asked before, but it’s not the same with him standing right here. It’s not facts anymore, but impressions instead. What won’t be put into words but makes Changmin _real_ , like a 2D image would draw itself out of a sheet of paper and merge into a solid shape.  
  
The sound of his voice. His choice of words. The way he talks, soft yet assured. The way he listens too, looking at least as eager as him as Yoochun speaks about he-doesn’t-know-what, and it doesn’t matter. His face of course, and now looking at him up close Yoochun thinks he might be older than he initially thought – the mature light in thoughtful eyes belying whatever roundness lingers in Changmin’s cheeks and chin, while the smile dancing on his face softens already sharp features and makes it hard to guess his actual age.  
  
“So how old are you?” he ventures as they enter the coffee shop, following the other to an empty table.  
  
“How old do you think I am?”  
  
“21?”  
  
“Close enough” Changmin smiles, “I’m 20.”  
  
A member of staff arrives before he gets to return the question, and asks if they’re ready to order. Yoochun throws Changmin a challenging look that the other understands at once.  
  
“He’ll take a latte” Changmin says, “no sugar, but if you’ve cinnamon that’d be just perfect.”  
  
“And he’ll have a hot cocoa” Yoochun adds, “with whipped cream. Lots of it, please.”  
  
The girl throws them a weird look but doesn’t comment. They grin at each other once she’s gone, and pick up the conversation where they’d left it.

  
  
In the following minutes, Yoochun learns that Changmin lives indeed in Seoul, still at his parents’ place. He has two sisters, both younger than him. His birthday is on February 18 (that is to say in two weeks, and Yoochun makes a mental note to remember). He skipped a class in middle school and is currently studying for a master in International Relations after he tried Korean Literature then Asian History, but will probably stop next year and change for something else. Maybe Law. He isn’t sure.  
  
“…What?” Changmin frowns, stopping in the middle of his explanations when he notices the expression on Yoochun’s face.  
  
“Nothing” he shakes his head, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “I was thinking, if you could you’d do nothing but study all your life.”  
  
“Sadly it doesn’t work that way.”  
  
“I’d say ‘ _thankfully’_.”  
  
“Not everybody is as carefree as you” Changmin comments, looking down to pick the remaining whipped cream left inside his mug with his forefinger.  
  
“I’m an active working adult, you know.”  
  
“You’ll forever be a teenager” Changmin argues, meeting his eyes again, “I’m not saying it’s _bad_ , but it’s true.”  
  
“Are you sure you’re only 20?” Yoochun retorts, a tad vexed, “cos you sound more like my grandaunt and she’s 73.”  
  
“I get that a lot” Changmin says simply, unaffected, “but that’s just me, I guess.”  
  
“How sad.”  
  
Changmin ignores him, sucking noisily on his finger before peering inside his cup, looking slightly regretful to see that it’s well empty. So Yoochun orders another hot cocoa with extra whipped cream. And another one forty minutes later.  
  
In the meanwhile he told Changmin he’s 22 and lives in Seoul as well, in the small apartment that’s the best he could afford with his monthly salary. He told him about Yoowhan and Jaejoong, about work and colleagues. He briefly mentioned university too, and was glad that the other didn’t probe.  
  
They ask every important question before tackling memories – 1161 days worth of messages, Changmin says. He counted.  
  
By the time Yoochun remembers to glance at his watch, there are four empty cups lining in front of Changmin. It’s past 7pm already – though Yoochun could swear not an hour has passed – and the customers around are here for early dinner, not an afternoon coffee. He insists they split the bill, in spite of Changmin’s protests that he took only one drink.  
  
“You’re a poor student while I’ve got a salary” he says, “and I’m feeling magnanimous today.”  
  
“Don’t use words you don’t understand.”  
  
Yoochun regrets being magnanimous – whatever that means – when he sees the bill, before thinking that 1161 days are after all well-worth it.  
  
They say goodbye once they’re in the street. Changmin did take the roses with him when they left, but he’s holding the flowers much like he’d an umbrella or a grocery bag. Yoochun thinks mournfully that his expensive bouquet will be ruined by the time the other gets home – if it makes it past the first trashcan that’ll cross Changmin’s path, that is. Now it’s only the parting words left, and silence stretches uneasily.  
  
“Well… it was fun” Changmin says at last, holding his free hand out awkwardly.  
  
“Yeah” Yoochun says, taking that hand equally awkwardly and shaking it like he’s never done that before, “see you later then…”  
  
“Ok.”  
  
Changmin smiles, and Yoochun mentally tags it as the expression to match a familiar ‘^^’.  
  
That’s how they part.  
  
  
~  
  
  
The very next day, on his way back from work, Yoochun realizes something is off.  
  
It’s 9pm. The last text from Changmin came yesterday evening – a stiff _‘thank you for today, it was fun’_. Nothing since. Yoochun only understands why once he tries to come up with a question for today.  
  
_Superman or Batman?_  
  
_Ever found a four-leaf clover?_  
  
_Something you’d absolutely never do?_  
  
For some reason he can’t pinpoint, it all sounds weird. Ridiculous even.  
  
Worse, the more Yoochun tries, the more the questions he thinks of become about what they told each other the day before – studies, family, hobbies… mundane topics that make him cringe because 11 and he are _not_ supposed to be like this. He ends up sending nothing at all and waits till past midnight before going to bed, turning off the lights with a heavy heart.  
  
If you leave out the very rare occurrences when one of them couldn’t text, it’s the first time in 1162 days that there’s no message.  
  
  
  
  
The realization that it will never be the same now that ‘ _11’_ is ‘ _Changmin’_ comes simultaneously with the one that Yoochun needed it.  
  
He needed that relationship, if it could even be called so. He needed the steadiness of their strange agreement – one question per day, nothing but the truth. In that life where Yoochun creates bonds as easily as he discards them, he needed the constancy of their talks, as random as they were. He needed the comfort that being special to someone – being 11’s 12 – had come to bring to him.  
  
He still needs it.  
  
He still needs it but it’s different now; it changed, and as his phone remains mute for days, Yoochun starts wondering if it was only him, or if like him, Changmin just doesn’t know what to do of what they are now.  
  
  
  
  
Yoochun tries again with another text on February 18.  
  
_Happy birthday! :)_  
  
_▪ Thank you ^^_  
  
Then nothing.  
  
And it’s this ‘nothing’ that fissures Yoochun’s once perfectly whole heart, because now Yoochun knows. He knows exactly _what_ smile, _what_ voice, _what_ warmth. He knows the real thing, but the real thing is something you’ve to work for, and that is not what Yoochun does. Yoochun lets Fate decide.  
  
Yoochun lets things happen, and most of the time, that is how he loses them.  
  
  
~  
  
  
“Stop brooding! You’re boring!!” Jaejoong yells through the store, throwing a toothbrush pack at him. Yoochun doesn’t move, knowing it’ll miss anyway – which it does indeed, by at least two meters.  
  
“Don’t damage the store things” he says simply, leaning on the counter and watching his friend as Jaejoong happily glides through the empty aisles, having stolen Yoochun’s office chair (the one that’s on castors) like he does whenever he comes to his workplace. Sometimes Yoochun suspects that it’s the only reason why he visits at all.  
  
It’s past midnight and the convenient store is empty, as it tends to be at that time of the day. The area isn’t exactly recommended for late outings and customers become rare once the clock strikes 11. Yoochun doesn’t mind the night shifts but he does find Jaejoong’s late visits more than welcome, whatever their true purpose is.  
  
“What’s wrong seriously?!” his friend asks for maybe the hundredth time, gliding toward him at full speed before stopping right under his nose, feet firmly planted on the spotless tiled floor.  
  
Yoochun would be impressed except he knows how many failed attempts it took for the other to master that – and how much that cost him, since at some point Jaejoong took to running into shelves whenever he wanted to stop (when he didn’t run into Yoochun instead). Of course it never occurred to Jaejoong that someone would have to pay for the damage. And of course, Yoochun never even considered reminding him about that.  
  
Now thinking about it, it probably had something to do with countless afternoons spent holed up in Jaejoong’s room as a teenager, stuffing his face with whatever his friend had managed to steal in the fridge and reciting his endless litany of complaints.  
  
Yoochun found as years passed that while Jaejoong’s advices were arguably as useful as a Russian dictionary in the middle of Peru, he was a good listener. And he didn’t mind hearing him voice the same anguished reproaches over and over again about his parents, their maybe-divorce and the unfairness of life. Just like Jaejoong’s mom was more likely to burn the kitchen rather than cook anything edible in it, but she knew Yoochun’s favorite snacks and made sure that the fridge was always packed with them.  
  
The memory brings a faint smile to his lips and he looks down at Jaejoong’s upturned face, noticing his concerned frown and the rare serious light in his friend’s usually genial eyes.  
  
“You’re going to break that chair someday” Yoochun mutters, ignoring Jaejoong’s previous question.  
  
“I’m going to break it today, and on your head if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
The threat doesn’t sound very serious, even less so as Jaejoong is now playing with the lever under the seat and consequently keeps moving up and down, but Yoochun feels somewhat comforted to know someone worries.  
  
“It’s nothing” he answers however, which is perfectly true, “just thinking about things.”  
  
“Since when do you ‘think about things’?” Jaejoong lets go of the lever to do air quotes, “and what ‘things’ are there to think about?”  
  
“Well…”  
  
“If it’s depression you’d better tell me now because I know exactly how to deal with it.”  
  
“It’s not-”  
  
“Just imagine there’s a goblin in your brain and you’ve got to kick it out, you know, cos it’s a creep, and think very hard _‘I don’t want you here!’_ , _‘stop squatting my head!!’_ , _‘I’ll call the cops!!’_ ”  
  
“Jae…”  
  
“You can scream out loud if you want, that works even better, it-“  
  
“I’m _not_ depressed, Jaejoong.”  
  
“You _look_ depressed.”  
  
Yoochun would argue but Jaejoong starts twirling on his chair, pulling faces at him at every turn. In the end he can’t help but laugh, much to his friend’s delight.  
  
  
Ten minutes later they are sitting on the sidewalk outside the store, in spite of the cold. Jaejoong is enjoying spicy rice cakes (that Yoochun will of course pay for). Yoochun is still thinking. He crossed his arms to keep himself warm, hands tucked against his sides, and what he most wants to do right now is take his phone out and send a ‘ _can you see the stars from your place?’_. There are a lot tonight.  
  
“So what is it?”  
  
He glances at Jaejoong, who knows about 11, but not about Changmin. Jaejoong doesn’t know they met, and while he more or less grasps that this strange texting game has come to mean _something_ to Yoochun, he doesn’t get actually _how much_.  
  
“I’m turning into an icicle. Spill before my hair starts freezing.”  
  
Yoochun spills. It’s over in an awfully short time.  
  
“So you miss him” Jaejoong concludes, stating the obvious.  
  
“…I guess.”  
  
“Why don’t you call?”  
  
“Because it’d be weird.”  
  
“Text him then.”  
  
“I don’t know what to tell him.”  
  
“You haven’t even tried.”  
  
“He hasn’t tried either.”  
  
Jaejoong throws him an exasperated glare, and Yoochun has to admit he more or less deserves it.  
  
“Well. If it bothers you that much, _do_ _something_ and stop brooding all day. It’s bad for food transit.”  
  
Yoochun can’t disagree with that. However ‘doing something’ goes against every nice theory he has about life, and he doesn’t want to betray ideas that have allowed him to go free and carefree (“and alone” Jaejoong would add) for most of his life. So Yoochun ‘does something’ indeed, but in the most roundabout way he can think of.  
  
He starts stalking the coffee shop.  
  
  
~  
  
  
The coffee shop, Yoochun finds, is also a restaurant depending on the time, and from 7pm on it provides a choice of drinks that’s at least as great as the day’s one, but with alcohol in it. Changmin said he knew the place but Yoochun doesn’t know when he comes exactly, or how often. So he decides to show up at random, and leaves the rest to fate. Old habits die hard.  
  
Four months pass that way.  
  
By that time Yoochun is known as a regular, but Changmin is still nowhere to be seen. They did send each other a couple of text messages, but they never made it past the _‘how are you – fine and you’_ pattern. More than once Yoochun was tempted to ask if they could meet and be done with it, but every time a bit of misplaced pride held him back. No, Yoochun won’t make the first move. Yes, he’s a stubborn idiot. And yes, he’s very much unhappy that Changmin forgot his birthday.  
  
  
~  
  
  
On July 30 th, halfway through the pivotal year of Yoochun’s life, events take a different turn – or rather, for the very first time, a direction is set. Like a weathervane would suddenly stop spinning freely, round and round and round with the smallest blow of wind, and firmly point to one destination instead.  
  
Though Yoochun can’t possibly know that when he pushes the coffee shop door open that evening, which is for the best. It’s late already, and tonight he didn’t come hoping to run into Changmin. He’s here half out of habit and half because he needs a drink.  
  
His parents finally caught up. They now call every day, trying to convince him that he can do better than a convenient store job with crappy work hours and an even crappier salary. Today they argued about whose fault it was, putting the blame on each other and forgetting about him as they started a shouting match that was anything but harmless. It called back bitter memories that Yoochun would gladly have left buried forever. He really doesn’t want to feel responsible for another round of daily arguments.  
  
He wants to drink, forget, and sleep ominous feelings away.  
  
He passes by the counter, looks up to greet the staff as usual and stops dead in his tracks, doing a double take. His eyes widen. There. At a table he recognizes, in a corner he knows. All gloomy ideas evaporate in the blink of an eye and Yoochun is suddenly breathless, a giddy sensation overcoming his senses while the only remotely coherent thought in his head goes _‘finally’_ – spreading and spiraling and soon growing into relief so strong it’d surprise him if it hadn’t erased every other feeling.  
  
It’s Changmin, no mistake.  
  
Taller than him, the same worn sneakers, his frame, his face. His hair is longer. A mug in his right hand. Huddled by the window, eyes downcast, a grey jacket carefully folded on the back of his chair. The small details and the overall impression too, that of someone who’s a little too much of _this_ or not enough of _that_ – someone special, different. Someone much like himself, Yoochun likes to think.  
  
Oh no there’s no mistake. He spent enough time replaying the few hours they spent together to be sure of it. And granted it’s unexpected, but Yoochun finds himself so taken aback that he realizes only then that he had more or less given up already, a little too used to people quietly vanishing from his life.  
  
He doesn’t think twice about it. Yoochun makes a beeline for the table, walking faster as he comes close and too happy to wonder about his pounding heart. He can’t wait to see the look on Changmin’s face when he’ll see him. The way he’ll smile. The way he’ll laugh when Yoochun will say ‘you forgot my birthday’. Maybe the slight embarrassment that will darken his cheeks when Yoochun will add ‘I missed talking to you’.  
  
He’s right by the table now but Changmin doesn’t look up, too absorbed in his thoughts to notice. Yoochun reaches out to tap on his shoulder, his heart skipping a beat when their eyes meet at last.  
  
“Long time no see” he says brightly, grinning like a fool and repressing a ‘fancy meeting you here’ that’d have made him wish he was born mute.  
  
Changmin’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, until recognition reaches his eyes.  
  
“Oh…”  
  
A silence.  
  
“It’s you.”  
  
It’s not quite the reaction Yoochun expected. His smile falters. He finally takes the time to look more attentively, and notices Changmin is a bit pale. His eyes are a bit red. He looks a bit lost and a lot sad, and as understanding slowly wends a way into his brain, Changmin sniffs, instantly confirming whatever dreadful doubts just formed in Yoochun’s head.  
  
Dreadful, because Yoochun does _not_ deal with problems, especially others’, and especially not the sad, tears-inducing, late-night-brooding sort of problem.  
  
Then he notices the mug on the table; hot cocoa with whipped cream, lots of it. It’s still full, obviously untouched, probably cold by now.  
  
“…Is something wrong?” Yoochun asks the obvious after a long silence, admittedly hoping the other won’t tell him, and already convinced he won’t indeed, Changmin is definitely not the kind of person who pours their heart out to others and-  
  
“I was at the hospital…”  
  
_‘Oh crap’_ Yoochun thinks as Changmin sniffs again, now looking down at his hands. He can only see a bit of his chin and the tip of his nose. He wants to see his face and tells himself that’s why he takes the chair opposite to the young man, against his better judgment. Changmin raises his head at the noise and meets his eyes once more. He looks mildly surprised, like he half-expected Yoochun to be a mere fragment of his imagination.  
  
“It bothers you if I sit here?”  
  
Changmin shakes his head, and resumes staring at his hands. Then it’s silent for so long that Yoochun finally feels obliged to ask again.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Changmin stiffens, back hunched and shoulders tense, his eyes hidden behind short bangs. All Yoochun can see is the thin trembling line of his mouth. He wishes he had never asked.  
  
“…it’s my father.”  
  
No. He wishes he hadn’t come here at all tonight.  
  
“He hasn’t been well recently, he… he didn’t talk about it but we knew and he finally agreed to go see a doctor two months ago…"  
  
Changmin’s voice fell to a whisper but his distress is obvious all the same. ‘Is that why you forgot my birthday?’ Yoochun thinks of saying and decides here and then that he’s the lowest human being to have ever walked this earth. He kinda knew already anyway.  
  
“But he didn’t tell us the results and I thought… I found out he was going to the hospital again today so I-I went there too-“  
  
Changmin breathes in shakily. Now Yoochun wishes he’ll look up, give him a huge fake smile and say ‘enough about me, what about you?’. But he opened that door, and as reserved as Changmin normally is, tonight obviously isn’t normal. And as much as Yoochun doesn’t want to hear it, it falls at last. A few cracked words, and beneath them, a breaking life.  
  
“He said it’s cancer.”  
  
It falls.  
  
It falls right in the middle of Yoochun’s free and carefree days. It crashes here quietly, small yet indelible, like the tear Changmin just caught at the corner of his eye would’ve done if it had been allowed to slip out.  
  
It’s too late for Yoochun to pretend he didn’t see anything, say a few empty words and leave. It’s too late for him to feign it doesn’t concern him. He’s selfish right, and a bit of a jerk like many have told him (among much worse things) but whether he likes it or not, before this were 1161 days of ‘something’ then 148 days of ‘nothing’ – Yoochun counted.  
  
1309 days. Whether he likes it or not, they all happened. Fragments of each other at first, carefully revealed and probed at, until they slowly became pieces of them. An odd, intricate connection built over countless piled-up moments that quietly started to fill up a void inside Yoochun, delicately grazing at emotions he was trying his damn hardest not to ever depend on or even acknowledge.  
  
The time when his heart ached as 11 wrote _‘lonely’_ , and the time when Yoochun was lying on a hospital bed and the person he most wanted to see was a complete stranger. The times when he pushed a coffee shop door open and always his heart soared then dropped, then soared again because ‘next time, maybe’. The time when he started caring, the time when Jaejoong said ‘you miss him’, and the time when after Changmin left to go home, Yoochun looked back and felt lonely as well… lonely and a little hollow because the tall figure he was hoping to see had already disappeared, and the street was crowded yet empty.  
  
It all happened and for the first time, Yoochun doesn’t want to let go. He also has no idea what to do. Changmin is back to staring at his hands, back to silence and grim thoughts. Yoochun racks his brain, scrambling for something to say. God knows he has a lot to choose from.  
  
He knows for instance that Changmin loves snow and peppermint sweets, that he isn’t a fast runner but is good enough on long distances, that he reads mangas in the toilets and isn’t too fond of evening dramas but watches them anyway. Also that Changmin likes photography and doesn’t believe in love at first sight, broke his little finger twice, and once had a goldfish but the cat ate it when he was 9.  
  
There’s nothing in all of this that tells Yoochun what he should do or say right now.  
  
He swallows around the lump in his throat. His gaze falls on the sagging whipped cream in Changmin’s full but now cold cup. He thinks ‘chocolate’ then ‘why not’ and catches a waiter’s eyes.  
  
When he pushes a new mug of steaming hot cocoa under Changmin’s nose five minutes later, the young man looks up and stares blankly, as if wondering what Yoochun is still doing here.  
  
“You like that stuff” he says simply, just as the waiter comes back with three plates, respectively chocolate muffin, chocolate crepe and chocolate cookies.  
  
Changmin looks at the plates, the mug, Yoochun, the mug again, his face unreadable. Then he sniffs once more and Yoochun’s mind instantly breaks into a wild chant of panicky _‘don’t don’t don’t don’t’_. Thankfully it’s a false alarm.  
  
“I’ll get sick if I eat all that.”  
  
“If you eat all that I’ll treat you to a brownie.”  
  
Changmin looks like he tries to smile but fails, and settles for a small shake of the head.  
  
“I’m not hungry.”  
  
“Not buying that.”  
  
Another sniff.  
  
“There’s no spoon…”  
  
Yoochun grins.  
  
Thirty minutes later he feels rather proud of himself, watching without a word as Changmin starts digging into the promised brownie, having sealed the fate of the crepe, muffin and cookies in no time. As for Yoochun, there’s a very warm feeling floating in his heart’s area. One he seldom felt before.  
  
They barely spoke however, and it soon becomes clear that Changmin doesn’t intend to say a word more about his father, much to Yoochun’s relief. He’s ok with staying here, ordering round after round of prohibitively expensive hot cocoa. He’s _not_ ok with confidences and heart-to-heart talks – not yet. Yoochun is well aware that they’ll eventually get there, since he’s not going to try his luck again. The past months taught him better.  
  
“Do you mind if I say I’d like to meet you again soon?”  
  
‘Soon’ added itself without his consent. Yoochun mentally facepalms. He hopes the rest sounded casual enough and reassures himself with a look at Changmin’s face. Chocolate or not, the other is in no state to notice that kind of detail right now.  
  
“…When?” Changmin says after a short silence, like he needed a few seconds to process the words.  
  
‘Tomorrow’ Yoochun wants to say.  
  
“Next week?” he proposes, inwardly congratulating himself for that small victory over his own mind, “we can meet here if that’s okay with you, to… to talk and well… stuff…”  
  
His voice trails off. There goes his victory. Changmin chooses that moment to rub his eyes tiredly, the issues on his mind a thousand miles away from his own mock fight against his big mouth, and it’s all it takes for Yoochun to feel once more like a giant arse.  
  
“I don’t know… it’s not very convenient, and-“  
  
“I missed you” Yoochun blurts out and nearly bites on his tongue. “I missed talking to you” he corrects immediately, glad that Changmin isn’t quite himself tonight or he’d have to go and get wasted to cancel the embarrassment once that talk is over.  
  
Changmin doesn’t answer at once, frowning. Yoochun wants to smack him on the head before his mouth betrays him again and spills something horribly embarrassing – like ‘please’.  
  
“… I missed that too” the young man says at last, looking at him with a smile – admittedly it doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s a smile all the same, and Yoochun’s heart swells a little. “I can’t believe it’s been four months-“  
  
“148 days.”  
  
Talk about embarrassing.  
  
“…you counted” Changmin comments, tilting his head. Yoochun grins.  
  
“I’m a hopeless sap, you know.”  
  
Changmin shrugs and looks away, traces of his previous smile still lingering on his face but it’s not enough to smooth the weariness marking his features.  
  
“I should go home…” he says out-of-the-blue after another silence. He turned a shade paler. He looks a bit scared too.  
  
Yoochun refrains from asking what he’ll do now – tell the rest of his family or wait for his father to do so… avoid the matter entirely or lie to them all that everything is fine? He’s not sure he wants to know anyway. But Changmin keeps twisting his hands, darting nervous glances outside, mercilessly abusing his lower lip with his teeth, and Yoochun understands then that he’ll tell them the truth.  
  
And he wishes he could do something, for once – another thing that’s new as far as he’s concerned.  
  
“I’ll see you next week ok?” he offers, trying hard to make it sound gentle without being too obvious about the ‘giving comfort’ part, “…8pm, is that fine?”  
  
Changmin nods. He doesn’t move at once, his whole body tense, like bracing himself. After a while he slowly stands from his chair and opens his mouth. Yoochun beats him to it.  
  
“My treat.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“I’ll have you know you make me magnanimous.”  
  
Another sad smile briefly touches Changmin’s lips, too faint to even be called pretence. That one cuts deep into Yoochun’s heart.  
  
  
Two minutes later the younger man is gone. Yoochun is left staring at an empty chair… alone with an empty wallet, an empty heart, and the frightening realization that _‘the real thing’_ isn’t just Changmin’s smile, but encompasses much more. Sad things, serious things, ugly ones too. Some that will hurt, others that will break, and a few that will grow warm… warmer than anything he’s ever felt maybe.  
  
That’s what happens when you start needing others, he knows. That’s what happens when you decide to hold onto them: there’s always a price to pay. A sacrifice. Sometimes trite but sometimes so great it ends up taking away whole parts of your heart, changing them forever.  
  
You never know at first, Yoochun muses as he leaves the café, slowly walking to the subway station.  
  
You take a chance without knowing what’s at stake; that’s a dangerous game. But 1309 days… 1309 days have to mean something, Yoochun hopes. 1309 days and Changmin’s smile could be worth it.  
  
  
~  
  
  
1316 days see their next meeting.  
  
One café latte and three hot cocoas. One hour and a half, mainly silences. No question and no tear. Two calls from Yoochun’s parents that are left unanswered – ‘it’s nothing, I’ll call back later’. Four jokes about Jaejoong, a coffee stain on Yoochun’s napkin, three times when their knees bump under the table. Eight smiles from Changmin, and two of them reach his eyes.  
  
Yoochun counted.  
  
  
~  
  
  
1337 days. They agreed to meet every week.  
  
Yoochun is getting the hang of it. Listening. Being here. Showing that he does care without looking bored, fake or freaked out – he’s taming that ‘empathy’ line at last.  
  
It’s good, because it’s been four weeks and Changmin finally starts talking. Admittedly it’s allusions rather than facts. Just a few crippled words left floating adrift in between a silence and a sigh, and Yoochun doesn’t get to actually answer. It’s still enough to make him feel awfully uncomfortable, and because that’s the kind of person he is, he takes to filling the blanks that invariably follow with the silliest anecdotes he can think of.  
  
Most of the time it’s about Jaejoong, customers at the convenient store, Jaejoong, all the crap he did with his brother, or Jaejoong.  
  
It works.  
  
Changmin smiles.  
  
  
~  
  
  
“What happened to your hair?” Changmin asks on the 1358th day, dipping a cold French fry in his ketchup.  
  
“I cut it.”  
  
“I noticed. Why?”  
  
“It was too long” Yoochun shrugs, watching him from above his glass as he takes his straw between his lips and starts blowing air through it. Changmin’s eyes are involuntarily drawn to the bubbles.  
  
“You look weird now” he says to Yoochun’s orange juice.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“It wasn’t a compliment.”  
  
“I know. Hoping for praises from you would be wishful thinking.”  
  
Changmin’s eyes narrow. Without warning he throws a French fry at him that hits Yoochun on the left cheek and drops inside his glass.  
  
“Changmin! That’s gross!!” he immediately lets go of the straw.  
  
“You’ve got ketchup on your face.”  
  
Yoochun grabs a napkin and wipes his face, glaring at Changmin as the young man grins widely, elbows on the table and chin resting on his joined hands.  
  
“I swear if it was anyone else but you…” Yoochun starts, leaving the words hanging threateningly in the air.  
  
“If it was anyone else but me…?” Changmin raises an eyebrow questioningly.  
  
Though Yoochun should know by now that threats don’t work anymore. Changmin understood long ago that he’d let him get away with about anything. Yoochun mumbles something unintelligible, making sure the word ‘brat’ comes out clearly, and hides a smile as Changmin bursts out laughing. ‘Burst out’ being the exact right description here, because when Changmin laughs – really laughs – he does with his entire body and it’s better not to have anything fragile around.  
  
In Yoochun’s heart, softness weaves itself into warmth.  
  
  
~  
  
  
On the 1379th day, Yoochun finally brings Changmin to his workplace after weeks of repeated assurances that his Midnight Guided Tour Of A Convenient Store is totally worth skipping a few hours of sleep.  
  
Changmin put up a strong fight but that night he eventually caves in, looking entirely unconvinced, and in a ‘let’s just be done with it’ fashion that doesn’t dampen Yoochun’s enthusiasm in the least. It’s not so much about his workplace – he isn’t exactly _proud_ of his job, though he does like it well enough – and more about shaking off Changmin’s depressing routine, which revolves around his classes’ timetables and the hospital opening hours.  
  
Yoochun calls his coworker once they arrive and tells him that he’ll take over the night shift. The middle-aged man doesn’t argue, used to Yoochun’s antics, and merely spares a curious look at Changmin’s resigned expression on his way out. Yoochun answers his doubtful “it’s _my_ shift so don’t you dare damage anything” with a distracted wave of the hand and drags Changmin inside the empty store. He proceeds with showing him around the place; the counter, the storage room, and lastly the small office where piles of administrative papers are gathering dust, and that Yoochun only visits when he needs a short nap.  
  
Predictably, Changmin frowns upon hearing that.  
  
“There is a couch” Yoochun points out defensively, motioning toward the collapsed sofa covered with a hideous flower-patterned blanket in a corner of the office.  
  
“That doesn’t mean you can sleep on it.”  
  
“That means there is a _couch_ ” Yoochun retorts, “and someone put it here for a reason. And I personally think sleeping on it is a highly likely option.”  
  
“During _work_?” Changmin emphasizes, his frown deepening. Yoochun hides a smile and pretends to be offended at that.

“I don’t sleep during work!” he lies, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’ve great professional conscience!”  
  
“Right, and I’m the empress of China” Changmin mutters, turning away from him as he moves over to the desk, looking slightly worried as he peeks at the papers on it, probably trying to determine if it is anything important and if Yoochun could possibly be in trouble.  
  
Yoochun can’t repress a smile this time. He briefly considers telling him that _no_ , he doesn’t actually manage the store, and thank God nothing in his job description requires him to deal with administrative crap, before deciding against it. He takes advantage of Changmin’s inattention instead to disappear in the storage room, and comes back quietly before the young man realized that he was gone, holding something tightly in his right hand. Yoochun can’t help but roll his eyes when he notices that Changmin started sorting and organizing the papers on the desk already.  
  
“Changmin…”  
  
“You should seriously start looking through this” the other tells him with concern, but doesn’t turn around. “There are letters from two years ago that are still unopened, and-“  
  
“Changmin.”  
  
“What if there is a control and something is not in order? You can’t tell them you didn’t even _open_ it right? There should-“  
  
“ _Changmin_.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Changmin whirls around and Yoochun stretches his arm out, pulling the trigger of the plastic gun in his hand. A loud ‘pop’ resonates in the small room and the dart flies through the office, hitting the young man straight in the chest. Changmin doesn’t move, frozen on spot, eyes wide open.  
  
“You’re dead” Yoochun sniggers and blows over the top of his fake gun. “Always cover your bases, kid.”  
  
“Yoochun what the hell are you-“  
  
“A beginner’s mistake” he shakes his head wryly, biting on the inside on his cheek not to laugh at Changmin’s aggravated expression. “But be thankful you’ve got the best trigger of the country here, I could teach you a few tricks.”  
  
Changmin remains silent for a few seconds. Yoochun studies his face expectantly, waiting and keeping his cool mask in place, until a mischievous gleam lights in the young man’ eyes.  
  
“The best trigger of the country, really?”  
  
Yoochun grins. He reaches behind him and grabs the second dart gun he put away in the back his jeans earlier, tossing it at Changmin who catches it midair.  
  
“Show me what you’ve got then” he challenges, “but beware, kid. I won’t go easy on you, just because you-“  
  
He stops when a dart knocks him right on the forehead.  
  
“Stop calling me a kid” Changmin warns as he scrambles to find shelter behind the couch, “and hide that big head of yours. I could hit it with my eyes closed.”  
  
Yoochun rushes behind the desk and crouches, fumbling in his pocket for another dart, grinning widely. Now _that_ is a side of Changmin that he glimpsed a few times during the three years their so-called game lasted, but had yet to really witness. He’s glad that he wasn’t mistaken. Very, very glad too because he is fairly sure that Changmin doesn’t loosen up like this with so many people, if at all. And in truth, Yoochun still loves being 11’s 12.  
  
He loves being special.  
  
He loves that _they_ are special, and fails to acknowledge the slightly jealous protectiveness rising within his heart.  
  
  
~  
  
  
1400 days.  
  
_1400_ days _._  
  
Yoochun comes to the coffee shop that evening wanting to make Changmin guess why today is special. He firmly intends to let him beg for hints and probe for hours if he must. Changmin hates _not_ knowing, it frustrates him to no end. Yoochun finds it cute (including the vicious glares he invariably gets). But it doesn’t go as planned.  
  
On the 1400 th day, things become too much on Changmin’s side. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t break down, doesn’t complain, but he doesn’t smile and talks instead. He talks, talks, talks for what feels like hours about metastases, tumors and chemotherapy. Yoochun stays silent all along. All along, he’s thinking that Changmin is way too young to know about that stuff.  
  
Yoochun thinks he’s too young as well. He thinks he’s not ready yet then realizes he’ll never be. He’ll never know how you’re supposed to handle those things. He doesn’t _want_ to know.  
  
On the 1400 th day, Yoochun nods and pretends to be listening. He tunes out every word Changmin says and is relieved when the time comes to leave. That’s the kind of person he is.  
  
  
~  
  
  
On the 1435th day, there’s an odd smile on Changmin’s face as he looks away from the window after ten minutes of silence and says “thank you”. Yoochun feels that he deserves neither that smile nor that “thank you”, but he knows then it’s worth it.  
  
He stops counting.  
  
  
~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here to the second part, kind of like a kaleidoscope I guess... different angles, glimpses of their respective lives as perceived by Yoochun, the way their relationship evolves too. Some of the information here is utterly random, while some will be key in the rest of the story, since I think it's often the little experiences/memories that end up triggering the biggest changes in a person's life. Hopefully it helps reading their respective personalities and characters better too - good and bad sides alike :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the read!!


	3. Of a smile and an epiphany

Autumn comes and goes, carrying October 24 away but leaving a trail of shouts in its wake. Yoochun unconsciously starts finding reasons not to go to his parents’ place.  
  
Christmas, New Year, Jaejoong’s birthday (at his parents’ house, with all his insane sisters who change hairstyles so often that Yoochun can’t remember for the life of him who’s who, or even how many of them there are – at any rate it’s enough for him to have one of their hands glued to his ass during the entire party as they take turns in groping him).  
  
Then another Valentine Day without a Valentine, and soon after, Changmin’s 22nd birthday (at the coffee shop, with so much of that excessively expensive chocolate that it pushes back once again Yoochun’s forever-delayed resolve to buy a car, but that’s okay because he finally gets to call him “Minnie Wonka” and Changmin is too busy stuffing his face to care).  
  
Spring is over in the blink of an eye, summer seems to drag forever.  
  
Days roll by slowly, each of them a dull copy of the previous one, long and stuffy under a leaden sun; repetitive, lacking excitement, heavy with something Yoochun doesn’t know what to call. Omens, maybe. He starts waiting for _something_ to happen as Changmin now often cuts short their time together, when he doesn’t cancel it altogether. “I need to be with him” he says with that soft, sad voice that Yoochun hates and that makes him wish he’d listened more attentively the past months. Then maybe he’d understand what’s going on.  
  
He gets promoted at work – “junior manager”, it’s called. That doesn’t ease his parents’ fears towards him, but Yoochun finally has enough to buy a brand new secondhand car. He names it Veruca because it tends to throw tantrums. Jaejoong claims that it breaks down more often than it actually agrees to start, but is obviously rather appreciative of that fact and christens Veruca with a soju bottle tied to a fishing rod.  
  
Yoochun calls Changmin to tell him all this. He knows better than to feel vexed when the young man says that he and Veruca are a perfect match. Yoochun already took to exaggerating every small misfortune that happens at work or because of Jaejoong, and promptly adds Veruca’s whims to that fateful mix – making a tragedy of a flat tire, keeping count of the times when he had to go chasing after a loose wheel cover, and loudly resenting every zero on his gasoline bills.  
  
Changmin sometimes laughs and sometimes sternly tells him to stop complaining. It often sounds halfhearted. Still, halfhearted is better than when Changmin doesn’t even try and only silence answers Yoochun’s attempts.  
  
Yoochun has come to hate his silences.  
  
He wishes he could fill or break them. He wishes he knew the way, but on the worst days, the sound of his voice only hovers about and never passes through.  
  
  
~  
  
  
There’s a phone call in the middle of the night.  
  
Yoochun starts awake, disoriented and drenched in sweat. He curses under his breath when he realizes that the fan stopped working yet again and sits up on his bed, pushing sweaty bangs out of his eyes. On the bedside table his phone is ringing insistently. Yoochun stifles a yawn as he stretches an arm out to take it, reads the caller name and swallows hard, suddenly not sleepy at all.  
  
“Yeah…?”  
  
His phone feels heavy in his hand, the plastic cold against his palm. Yoochun can hear his strained breathing – _loud_ in the moist air around – but otherwise it is silent, and way too dark. A glance at the alarm clock tells him it’s past 3am.  
Apprehension curls up tight inside his chest.  
  
“Can you come?” Changmin breathes quietly on the other side of the line. It’s neither soft nor sad. Just heartbreakingly young.  
  
  
  
Fifteen minutes later Yoochun stops his car in front of the hospital. He spots at once the lone figure standing by the main grid, and with a pang in his heart, he thinks that it looks as if that person here has been waiting for months.  
  
 _“Cancer”_ , Changmin said. Yoochun didn’t realize it but back then, maybe he was already bracing himself for this moment, right now, right here. It turns out to be made of an opaque night sky, orange neon lights assailed by swarms of tiny flies and the air too warm, humid, buffering sounds like a wet sponge, making the thin fabric of his T-shirt stick to his sweaty skin. The silence however, Yoochun thinks… the silence would have been the same whatever the circumstances. Silence so thick that nothing passes through.  
  
He doesn’t say a word as he slowly comes near; his voice is like trapped inside the lump in his throat. He stops walking halfway but Changmin was waiting. He noticed him already. The young man is the one who closes the distance between them, his steps oddly hesitant, like it’s not asphalt he’s walking on but the shaky ground of a foreign place.  
  
“It’s okay if I go with you?” he asks, and Yoochun tilts his head, trying to see the other’s eyes through the haze of night.  
  
“They told me to go home” Changmin goes on without waiting for an answer. Yoochun’s eyes wander on his face – his clenched jaw, the light shadow of stubble on his cheeks, the dryness of his lips. He thinks of Changmin when he was 20 and smiling, awkwardly holding a bouquet of roses.  
  
“She said she’d stay. Umma-“  
  
Changmin stops talking abruptly, swallowing a child’s word. He looks away, frantically darting glances around like his usual confident self could be hiding somewhere close – like it’s just a bad joke and when darkness is lifted, everything will go back to normal.  
  
“I don’t want to go home…” he says again, much lower, his voice cracking and failing him, “my sisters are waiting there a-and I… I don’t want…”  
  
Changmin’s eyes remain stubbornly dry in spite of the tears welling under the words. Yoochun finally moves and reaches out to take his hand. He wraps his fingers tight around Changmin’s, sweaty palms sliding against one another. He feels the younger one tighten his hold, turning it into a death grip. He hears the small catch in his breathing, and Yoochun understands that he mustn’t let go.  
  
“I’m taking you to my place ok?”  
  
He doesn’t wait for Changmin to answer and leads him to the car, unconsciously matching his steps with the young man’s. The drive back home is quiet. Yoochun’s face feels too hot, and the rhythm of his heart has gone offbeat somehow. Next to him Changmin is staring ahead blankly, lost from him… lost in a faraway place that only releases people after it claimed its toll.  
It’s night and it’s quiet, and it aches like the world is soaking in sorrow.  
  
  
~  
  
  
They still have said nothing when Yoochun pushes open the door to his apartment, moving aside to let Changmin go in first. He switches on the lights and removes his shoes, resolutely avoiding looking at the younger man. He tells himself he just wants to give him some time to regain his composure. The truth is that there’s no way in hell Yoochun can handle some situations.  
  
“You can take the couch” he says roughly, “I’d let you have the bed, but you wouldn’t like sleeping there…”  
  
He can’t remember when he last washed the bed sheets. It was probably when Jaejoong stayed over, three months ago. He wouldn’t swear it though.  
  
“I’m going to find something you can wear for the night, you can’t sleep in your clothes” Yoochun adds matter-of-factly and retreats inside the safety of the bedroom, still looking anywhere but at Changmin.  
  
He stifles the urge to bang his head against the wall once he’s there, cursing and mentally frying his tongue and slicing it slow and painful for being utterly useless when he most needs it. His hands are shaking as he rummages inside his wardrobe, grabbing an oversized T-shirt he got for free at university and sweatpants that’ll surely be too short but at least they’re clean. Simple thoughts. Simple things. He _can_ do simple things at least, if the right words remain beyond his reach.  
  
He comes back and finds Changmin sitting on the couch – _his_ couch, in _his_ living room, in the middle of Yoochun’s mess of an apartment… the strangely accurate embodiment of the young man’s steadfast existence right in the middle of Yoochun’s mess of a life. He still looks lost, out-of-place, yet so unnaturally calm that Yoochun feels uncomfortable as if he’s the one who’s intruding.  
  
He comes closer, coughing lightly to draw his attention. Changmin doesn’t move, legs brought close together and his hands on his lap, staring a hole through the carpeted floor. He looks terrible but he isn’t crying, and for this Yoochun is thankful.  
  
“Here” he says, dropping the clothes on the younger man’s lap before sitting next to him, mustering up courage to at least try. “Do you feel thirsty?”  
  
Changmin shakes his head, slowly moving his gaze from the floor to the clothes on his knees.  
  
“Hungry, maybe?”  
  
Another small shake of the head.  
  
“…Is there anything I can do?”  
  
Yoochun clearly hears the helplessness in his voice but Changmin doesn’t even bother answering. The young man starts unfolding the clothes instead, frowning as he spots the pink donkey proudly displayed on the front of the T-shirt. Yoochun wonders if he should explain but decides right now isn’t the best moment.  
  
“Alright… I guess I should let you rest” he says again, going for a smile that he knows must look awfully fake, but it’s not his fault if his heart feels shrunken. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”  
  
He’s about to stand from the couch when Changmin’s hand shoots up and grabs his wrist. The mere contact of the young man’s fingers on his skin has him repressing a shudder and he averts his eyes.  
  
“Yoochun…”  
  
Yoochun isn’t ready for this.  
  
Oh God no, he isn’t, he _isn’t_ , but already Changmin is tugging him closer, urgent and insistent. Before he knows it, the young man’s arms are around him, their sides are pressed close together, and it’s entirely too warm. A wave of heat surges up from deep inside, from his guts to his heart, blood rushing to his face. Yoochun tries to breathe in and bring cool air inside but the world narrows instead, all senses sharply focusing on one presence alone.  
  
There’s the soft caress of silky hair on his cheek and the slight scratch of unshaved skin against his jaw, then hands gripping the back of his T-shirt. A breath of hot air brushes past his skin and sends a shiver down his spine, and Yoochun breathes out shakily.  
  
“Stay…”  
  
It’s said so quietly that Yoochun barely hears it. He thinks maybe it’s because his heart is making so much noise.  
  
He returns the embrace, tentatively holding him close. Still, Changmin isn’t crying – tense and quiet, the whole length of his body pressed against him, warm and so _real_ Yoochun needs to close his eyes to calm his frenzied senses. His hand moves on its own accord and soon his fingers are threading through the younger man’s hair – slow, careful, unsure. Trembling.  
  
He obliges himself to relax and immediately feels Changmin shift even closer, like trying to melt into his body. Yoochun doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t used to this kind of closeness, the one of emotions that need to be shared and sheltered. He’s running on instincts alone and leans back on the couch, pulling Changmin along with him. He stays absolutely still as the younger man arranges long limbs as best as he can to get more comfortable, his face still buried in the crook of Yoochun’s neck.  
  
It’s awkward, definitely.  
  
Yoochun wishes it wouldn’t be but the silence is awkward, the embrace is awkward, the time of the day and the stuffy atmosphere, and the way Changmin’s fingers dig into his back are awkward… it’s even till the vague hospital smell clinging to the young man’s clothes that unnerves him a bit. He doesn’t let go though, an arm around Changmin’s back, his other hand high on his shoulder. Yoochun supposes he’s waiting for a break down, for that silent façade to crack.  
  
He tries hard not to think about why exactly the younger man should be crying right now.  
  
He tries hard not to think at all, and realizes then that he can feel Changmin’s heartbeat.  
  
Again, Yoochun is counting.  
  
 _One… two… three… four_ … the muffled words of Changmin’s heart speaking of loss and unfairness, resounding in emptiness that seems to come from inside and not from the silence around. Soft and hidden. Hidden. _Hidden_ , Yoochun thinks, because the real thing is something you’ve to look for.  
  
 _Eight… nine, and ten._  
  
He just never stopped and tried to imagine what would happen once he finds it.  
  
 _Eleven, twelve…_  
  
That’s them. _That’s us_ , Yoochun nearly says aloud, bringing Changmin closer. 11 and 12. You didn’t forget, did you? And for you as well… to you, that silly game also meant so much more than you’ll ever admit. Because your truth, it was the same as mine. Your truth was so lonely, and your smile…  
Yoochun’s head falls a little, safely tucked against Changmin’s shoulder as sleep starts claiming him again. The arms around him don’t loosen their hold.  
  
 _Twenty. Twenty four. Thirty one._  
  
Your smile, Yoochun remembers blearily… your smile needed another one to match it. And you have become everything I was running away from, you know, because I’m terrified to hurt. But if it’s happiness, I can make it happen. I’ll give it to you.  
  
Yoochun sighs, half-asleep already and oblivious of the eyes watching him.  
  
Just wait, he thinks, instinctively curling around the warmth of Changmin’s body as slumber swiftly frays confused thoughts… just wait and you’ll see everything… wait and you’ll see everything I can be.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Like every morning, Yoochun’s phone alarm is what rouses him from sleep while it’s still night outside, and like every morning, it does so at the worst possible moment. The screeching sound tears irreverently through a blissful dream of warmth and completion, and he curses, flinging an arm out to make Hell’s call shut up.  
  
But this particular morning apparently decided to outdo itself, and after a few sloppy attempts, Yoochun realizes that he can’t move his arm. He tries again with more strength and does such a great job at leaning out of the bed that he ends up falling head first, his chin slamming against the hard floor. He curses again and gropes around blindly, grabbing the first solid thing he finds for support. He’d open his eyes but he knows from experience that they won’t be functional until he’s downed at least one bucket of coffee, or two.  
  
Which is why he needs a while to understand that this isn’t his bed but the couch, and his phone is nowhere in sight for the very good reason that it’s ringing from inside his jacket, on the other side of the room. Then Yoochun realizes that what he’s holding onto is a leg – not his own, obviously. He lets go, still sitting on the floor, and blinks owlishly at the familiar face looking down at him.  
  
Changmin.  
  
…Changmin, right.  
  
So he didn’t dream the warmth thing, Yoochun thinks, furiously rubbing his chin where it hit the floor. He needs a few seconds more to remember the past night, the phone call, the hospital, the embrace and yes… yes he did fall asleep on the couch. Changmin on the other hand…  
  
Yoochun squints. Changmin likely didn’t sleep at all. He doesn’t look like he cried either. He looks like Changmin and yet not really, different, exhausted, and a couple years older than the last time Yoochun looked at him, three hours ago.  
  
The alarm is still ringing, and as much as Yoochun would like to bring order into his brain, there’s no time. He has all but ten minutes to get ready for work. He mumbles a “g’morning” and dashes to the bathroom, only to come back five seconds later to switch off the alarm and grab some clothes.  
  
“Can I do something?”  
  
Yoochun stops in the middle of his frantic search for clean underwear. Changmin is now standing in front of him, staring in a way that’d be troubling if Yoochun didn’t know him so well.  
  
“Uh…”  
  
That’s just one of the young man’s unconscious habits but he has to admit it _is_ indeed unnerving at that exact moment, and Yoochun wishes he’d look away.  
  
“Could you make some coffee…?” he asks at last, motioning toward his miniature kitchen and vaguely wondering if all of Changmin’s tall frame and long legs can even fit in there. But a glance at his phone reminds him that he has no time to worry about that and he’s back to running, only waving his hand in acknowledgment when Changmin says ‘ok’.  
  
  
  
  
Yoochun makes it in five minutes, with odd socks and toothpaste smeared all over his right cheek. It’s still dark outside, though the sky color is imperceptibly shifting from black to the deep shade of blue and grey that precedes dawn. He smiles as naturally as he can when he comes back in the main room where Changmin is now waiting for him, visibly not knowing what to do with himself.  
  
“You can stay here longer if you want” Yoochun offers, “I’ll give you my keys, it’s no problem, really…”  
  
Changmin shakes his head, trailing behind him as Yoochun makes a bee line toward the kitchen and the blissful promise of a morning coffee.  
  
“I’ll just go back home… thank you for yesterday. You-“  
  
“Ah!”  
  
The young man stops talking, watching him confusedly. Yoochun mentally curses his big stupid mouth. It’s silly, understandable, even funny in a way… Changmin started the coffeemaker but he didn’t put anything inside, and all there is in Yoochun’s cup is hot water. It’s nothing – Changmin is tired, upset, he didn’t sleep at all and his father just _died_ – it’s _nothing_ , but Yoochun sees the other’s face turn red as soon as he notices his mistake. He winces inwardly as a strange foreboding glides inside the room, making the silence oppressive.  
  
“…That’s alright” he says quickly, letting out a forced laugh. Apprehension is coming up again, and the tense expression on Changmin’s face isn’t helping. “There’s instant coffee in the cupboard, just-“  
  
He reaches out at the exact same time as Changmin. Their hands bump, a false move, and he drops the cup. It crashes loudly on the floor, splashing hot water all around. Yoochun jumps back quickly and looks up, intending to make sure that Changmin is okay. His heart drops.  
  
The young man isn’t hurt, but his eyes are brimming with unshed tears.  
  
Yoochun wants to tell him not to do this.  
  
It’s nothing, he wants to say, nothing, see… I’m fine, it’s okay, it’s just some water and that cup was ugly anyway, super ugly, I should thank you here, now let’s just laugh about it, ok?  
  
He watches as Changmin presses his hand hard against his mouth, repressing a sob. He’s blinking fast to keep the tears at bay but this time it’s not working; Yoochun can _see_ it crumbling inside, clashing, falling, pretence against feelings, walls collapsing like in a house of cards. He thinks he hates that look on Changmin’s face, a lost fight, a last attempt to at least say he _tried_ but it was all in vain.  
  
“Don’t be like this” he murmurs, barely audible and mostly to himself. His heart aches in a way he hasn’t felt in years and that leaves him so small… so _weak_ he feels suffocated.  
  
A strangled sound leaves Changmin’s mouth as the first tears slip out, and it’s more than Yoochun can take. He takes a step forward. He takes him in his arms just as the other’s hands open, searching, fumbling, clawing at his back as soon as they find the presence they needed. The next thing he knows Yoochun is fighting tears, his throat tight and his heart heavy as Changmin’s frame shakes with violent sobs. He’s breaking down at last and somewhere, deep inside, Yoochun knows it’s a good thing.  
  
He hates it all the same.  
  
He holds him.  
  
He listens to Changmin’s cries, letting him voice the pain and hurt and abandon, recognizing that ageless scream of _‘why’_. One that leaves a hole in every heart it pierces, one you can never fill. Yoochun knows those tears, that pain, that hole… he endured all of it so many years ago, on October 24. It’s ugly, it hurts, it changes people yet everyone is the same. Someday you lose one of those things that were supposed to be forever, and all those beautiful lies you believed in come undone.  
Yoochun closes his eyes not to cry, and holds Changmin tighter.  
  
Somewhere, deep inside, he’s glad to be here.  
  
  
  
By the time Changmin calms down a little, the sky is grey but clear outside. The young man’s eyes cleared a bit too. He isn’t crying as hard now. Yoochun is still watching him warily though, fearing another breakdown. One of his hands is on Changmin’s back, awkwardly moving up and down. He seriously doubts the touch feels comforting but he can’t find it in himself to stop.  
  
He does stop however when Changmin breathes out shakily and moves his head left and right, like mentally telling himself to get a grip. His tears are still flowing however, uncontrollable, and he keeps wiping his face alternatively with his fingers or the T-shirt in his hands – the one Yoochun got for him the night before. He thinks that when Changmin will be better for real, they could try and joke about how he drenched his donkey.  
  
Yoochun doesn’t know anymore what to do with his hands so he brings them to his lap and averts his eyes, looking wistfully at the milky sky outside. He’s awfully late for work but can’t bear to leave the young man like this. He wonders if that means he finally graduated from the ‘zero-empathy absolute jerk’ status, though the change doesn’t seem all that interesting to him. On top of feeling utterly useless, which he’s already used to, now he also feels _bad_ about it. Talk about improvement.  
  
It takes a good ten minutes of indecision before Yoochun deems it safe to leave Changmin alone. He makes a whirlwind trip to the kitchen, trying not to run on the way _and_ not to look worried sick, but something must have betrayed him because when he comes back, Changmin is looking at him weirdly.  
  
“Here” Yoochun says stiffly, not quite meeting his eyes as he thrusts a kitchen roll into his hand. “Sorry, I don’t have tissues but I can have as many of those as I want for free at work so…”  
  
“Oh…” Changmin bites down on his lower lip, looking up at him with wide, wide eyes, red-rimmed and weary, dangerously close to breaking open again, and _here_ Yoochun clearly feels a painful twinge inside his chest. “Sorry, I forgot, your job, it’s late, you-“  
  
“It’s fine, don’t worry.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“I’ll tell them the cat ate my keys.”  
  
It’s lame, deplorably so, but Changmin smiles.  
  
Just a wan smile that quivers at the corners of his mouth, ephemeral and pale.  
  
A smile like a sad echo of their laughter in the bright hours they spent together, but a smile that would not have surfaced if it wasn’t for them. And for that very reason, a smile more beautiful than all the smiles Yoochun ever saw on this face… like there was depth somewhere beneath silly games and talks. Like every joke, every shallow line was in fact hiding the growth of much stronger feelings, sincere and sheltered from past wounds. Something left untouched and silent, and that Yoochun never realized had a name.  
  
There are still a few tears clinging to Changmin’s eyelashes as that smile lingers on his face, so small and yet so full of light… so _important_ because it was Yoochun who put it here. _It was me_ , he wants to say even as that light starts fading away, even as another tear slips out, even as he still has no idea how to lull sadness. He wants to erase it. He wants to stop his tears, to hold his hand, to make promises… it doesn’t matter what or how many, or even if he can never keep them.  
  
Yoochun just wants to be _here_ , at the center of his world, the reason for his smiles – fake or true – and the one he’ll reach out to when it hurts.  
  
In the time it takes for that smile to fade, it dawns on Yoochun that he is in love.  
  
Has been for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here to the 3rd part, and Yoochun finally acknowledges that he's not so "free & carefree" as he liked to think ^^; References to Minnie Wonka & Veruca are from "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory". Enjoy! :)


	4. Of love, friends and acquaintances

Love, Yoochun promptly decided, is an extremely absurd feeling.  
  
Yoochun knows about desire. He knows about affection, attachments, break ups, dead ends, the little something in a smile that speaks of a door waiting to be pushed open, and the first signs indicating an end just around the corner. All those have rules, tricky and sometimes cruel, but rules that Yoochun flatters himself with thinking he knows well – it’s a game he can play.  
  
Love however, he muses while gazing at the kid conscientiously emptying a pack of cereals on the floor in front of his counter in the convenient store… love doesn’t have rules. Love will play dirty.  
  
Take for instance the beyond ridiculous way he felt once the unwelcome realization crashed on him more than two weeks ago. “Love” barely crossed his mind and there Yoochun had felt like he kinda really would like to maybe kiss Changmin. Who was sitting on his couch like the epitome of gloom, with red eyes and a snotty nose. As if just thinking “love” could make one want to kiss people.  
  
_Crying_ people.  
  
As far as Yoochun is concerned, nothing can kill off kissing inclinations faster than a tear-stricken face. If only because it’s gross.  
  
Changmin didn’t look gross though.  
  
Changmin looked very sad and tired, he had just attempted a much pitiful smile, he seemed younger than his age for a change, and his eyes kept silently asking for help. All in all, he was very un-Changmin. It _was_ upsetting, but definitely not gross.  
  
Yoochun’s frown deepens. The kid in front of him starts stomping on the spilled cereals, delighted by the various sounds he’s producing. Yoochun vaguely thinks of stopping him but children’s creativity shouldn’t be hindered, and he’s curious to see the look on his mother’s face when she’ll finally notice.  
  
He wonders what’d be the look on Changmin’s face if he kissed him.  
  
How his mouth would feel.  
  
How the kiss would taste.  
  
Yoochun easily imagines it – dry lips, unsure at first but for him they’d part, revealing both sweetness and spice, a tinge of want, the tang of need… a last moment of hesitation – _‘are you sure?’_ – then the rush of electricity coursing through both their bodies, the need to get closer and breathe the same air, share the same heat, feel the same beat because inside their hearts would be racing against one another and then breaking the kiss, a suspended silence and an exchanged look – fire, relief, searching – a breathless sigh before-  
  
“What are you doing??!!!”  
  
Yoochun nearly falls from his chair.  
  
He sits up straight and swiftly pulls the appropriate bored-and-sulky casher boy’s expression as a woman appears in his field of vision, running on heels that are five centimeters too high for the slippery tiled floor, the three bags in her hands and the demon child staring at her like a general in the process of evaluating the enemy forces. The mother screams again and Yoochun inwardly cheers for him as the kid turns around and runs in the opposite direction. None of the customers around makes a move to stop him.  
  
All eyes are on her when the woman stumbles, flails her arms around in a vain attempt to find balance back, and falls much inelegantly on her bottom in the middle of the spilled cereals. Pity then prompts Yoochun to move from behind his counter.  
  
“Could someone please bring that child back?” he says loudly before kneeling next to her, flashing his brightest smile at her crestfallen face. “Are you hurt somewhere?”  
  
He smiles even more widely when he notices that she’s on the verge of tears. Changmin’s breakdown exhausted his resources of compassion for a full year at least, and it was _Changmin_. If this one decides to cry, Yoochun will give her toilet paper and leave.  
  
“Can you stand?” he asks again, giving her a hand as she nods pitifully. She gets back to her feet with his help, wobbling unsteadily on her heels as Yoochun leads her out of the cereals-minefield.  
  
A customer shows up a minute later dragging the unrepentant culprit by the hand. The woman turns bright red, about to scream her lungs out in an attempt to turn shame into rightful anger. Something about the kid’s sullen face tells Yoochun she’ll only embarrass herself further.  
  
“Thank you!” he intervenes, bowing to the helpful customer.  
  
“No problem” the guy walks away, followed by other customers now that the show is over.  
  
Yoochun reads indecision on the woman’s face, torn between admonishing her son to her heart’s content and running out of here not to ever come back. He shrugs and walks to his counter, grabs a broom and gives it to the small boy.  
  
“You clean.”  
  
He winks at him when he’s sure the woman can’t see his face, rewarded by a cheeky grin. Then Yoochun pulls his most obsequious face and turns to the mother to inform her about the dire consequences of kids’ misbehaving in respectable stores and the many advantages of generous tips.  
  
  
  
  
Later that evening, he tells the whole story to Jaejoong. His friend doesn’t listen to a single word, absorbed in reorganizing the shampoo bottles on shelves by color and into a rainbow – from red to orange to yellow then green, blue and purple.  
  
“Isn’t it prettier like this?” he asks, not that Yoochun’s opinion matters to him at all.  
  
“It’ll take me hours to sort them again later.”  
  
“Harmony, Yoochun-ah! Harmony!” Jaejoong ignores him, “people can _feel_ those things.”  
  
“The only thing that woman felt was the bruise on her ass.”  
  
“It’s science, you know. Blue is great for the heart.”  
  
“Maybe she also felt _her_ 20,000 won in _my_ pocket.”  
  
“Pink isn’t bad either, you should keep to it and get rid of those black ones.”  
  
“Men don’t use strawberry shampoos, Jae.”  
  
“I use them.”  
  
“Why couldn’t I fall in love with you instead?”  
  
“But I like peach better.”  
  
Yoochun gives up. He sits down cross-legged on the floor, letting Jaejoong mess with the shampoos as he’s pleased and thinking about what he just said… thinking that Jaejoong doesn’t do tears and too-bright smiles. He doesn’t make Yoochun question stuff about himself. He doesn’t stare in unnerving ways. He doesn’t need logic, reasons, facts, futures, steadiness or answers. Jaejoong merely _is_ , unbound and ungoverned, and that’d suit Yoochun just fine.  
  
Changmin on the other hand…  
  
Yoochun stares down at his hands as he fumbles with the tag of his work jacket.  
  
Changmin’s eyes never quite lose that serious light. Changmin thinks the world is a serious place, with serious people, serious jobs, serious dreams. Changmin thinks Yoochun isn’t serious enough; he also likes him enough to pretend not to care. Maybe Changmin even worries about him, and Yoochun snorts quietly. So young yet so full of himself. So confident.  
  
So inexperienced, in spite of his way of talking like he’s seen and analyzed everything, and made the perfect choices after that.  
  
So infuriatingly _sure_ , but what irks him even more, so often right and spot-on when it comes to Yoochun’s life and problems.  
  
Also lonesome, withdrawn, a tad too negative and quick to criticize, with no tact whatsoever, flaunting pig-head stubbornness and blind resistance to change, hating to be proved wrong and probably insecure about so much beneath it all. Yet _that_ Changmin somehow let him in, and those traits that Yoochun should dislike only draw him in more.  
  
Love is an absurd thing, right.  
  
Absurd in a totally displeasing way, unlike the ‘absurd’ that’s Jaejoong and his rainbow of shampoos, or that woman strutting away with crushed cereals stuck on the behind of her expensive skirt.  
  
Absurd because Changmin is one of those guys labeled ‘100% straight’.  
  
Yoochun can’t even comfort himself here with the illusory hope of a 1% that’ll never come true. And so the most absurd part of it all is that he still wants to indulge in the feeling – just a little longer.  
  
It’s the first time he feels like this. The first time he’s felt like kissing someone not because of pretty lips, too much alcohol or vague affection. It was a gut thing, instinctive, explosive, without rules or reasons. A warm ache. The painful surge of something both strong and tender… soothing, powerful, enveloping and full. Kiss him and draw that line between the two of them and the rest of the world.  
  
Yoochun stares down at his hands, thinking of when he took Changmin’s.  
  
Of holding him in his arms.  
  
The closeness, distress and tears. His own emotions so contradictory and inappropriate, hurt and need; a mayhem of feelings rocked by the sudden awaking of instincts too raw to be called out of line or ill-timed.  
  
He hasn’t seen Changmin since that morning after his father died, and Yoochun’s world is slowing down. The weight of absence grows. The lack of _something_ is pervading his thoughts. Concern pricks his mind, and longing his heart.  
  
Yet Yoochun feels happy. He likes the way warmth unfolds just thinking of Changmin, likes daydreaming scenes and touches that he knows won’t happen, likes the pounding of his normally undisturbed heart. He likes remembering the hands clinging on him, and likes imagining all the ways they could hold him again. His mind sometimes ventures into forbidden lands, of kisses turned passionate where the need to have and cross lines overcomes the sweeter taste of chaste desires. That’s usually when vague guilt arises and brings Yoochun back to the real world.  
  
He knows that the longer he indulges in it, the more it’ll hurt later.  
  
He can’t bring himself to care.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Changmin has always liked lines. Not limits. Lines: defining differences, drawing multiple choices, sometimes materializing a barrier and making it easier for him to decide of the best way to cross it. He likes it when matters are neatly exposed. He doesn’t like confusion, innuendoes, blurred zones. He calls a spade a spade.  
  
Many people don’t like this about him, he found as time passed. Changmin learnt not to care too much though it hurts sometimes. He was never one to sugarcoat matters and more often than not, he ended up being blamed when the very unpleasant facts he had been pointing out blew up in others’ faces. He was often told not to be so blunt, at least, but he can’t do so without altering the truth. And truth means a lot to him.  
  
Changmin never lies.  
  
He’s been like this for as far as he can remember. He can still picture his teacher’s astonished face in primary school when he came up to her, looked straight into her eyes, and said he’d stolen a bunch of afternoon snacks to give them to the homeless man that he saw every day on his way to school. She went to see his mother that evening, to talk to her about her son’s “ambiguous morals”.  
  
His teacher also took strong dislike to him from that day on – precisely right after Changmin retorted that no, it was not ‘ambiguous’, he _had_ told her the truth. He still doesn’t know if that dislike stemmed from the fact that he had talked back to her, or that in her book, a 10 years old who could make sense of “ambiguous morals” was burgeoning nuisance and had to be subdued before it was too late. For her part, Changmin’s mother acknowledged that it had been for a good cause, and he got off that time with a stern scolding and two months’ worth of his pocket money.  
  
The same attitude predictably caused him more serious trouble later, notably bringing him a tattletale reputation and a fair share of bullies.  
  
If anything, what he strongly felt as unfairness only made him cling to the truth even more.  
  
Changmin still believes that it’s his strongest point, never mind that Yoochun says it isn’t cute all. He also thinks it makes life much simpler, not having to deal with white lies and people’s susceptible selves. Seeing the world just as it is. No illusions means no deceptions. The people who like him like him for who he really is, and the contrary is also true. He knows who they are, and he accepts it.  
  
It’s not always easy though.  
  
Sometimes Changmin wavers, like on that day… that nightmarish day when after he went to the hospital, after his father practically begged him not to say anything, after hours lost in numbing confusion and hurt, he found back something of himself in Yoochun’s eyes and went home. It took every bit of courage he had but he went to find his mother, and said there was something the whole family needed to talk about. The memory still tears through his heart with renewed anguish whenever he’s reminded about it, and is likely to do so for a very long time.  
  
It was terrible, pushing his own father into a corner. Brutal. But then the truth was out, and Changmin is sure at least that he did the right thing. Although that barely eased the long series of bad news and medical failures that followed. And it certainly didn’t make it easier to watch his father’s slow agony – “he’s fighting back” the doctors said, but Changmin knew better.  
It doesn’t lessen the pain at all after his father dies, and a bottomless hole remains for the rest of the family to live with.  
  
Changmin draws another line then – a _before_ , an _after_.  
  
He clings to a new truth.  
  
A dry, simple one. His sisters aren’t old enough, the last of her mother’s strengths was spent during endless grueling hours of wake, and the truth now is that Changmin somehow has to step up. They aren’t alone; their family is big and supportive, and money isn’t much of a problem. It’s not as hard as it could be, but it’s still a heavy burden to shoulder. The weeks that follow his father’s death pass in a blur with much more downs than ups, but at the end of it, Changmin grabs a scholarship – no more shifting from one course to the other – and decides that it’s time for him to be independent.  
  
His sisters and mother take the news with mild enthusiasm. They congratulate him, of course, but aren’t too happy when Changmin says that he intends to leave home and move out.  
  
Yoochun stares blankly and mutters “it’s great” in an odd voice after a long silence, before he turns away. It sounds like he’s proud but that’s so non-Yoochun-like that Changmin brushes it off.  
  
Junsu suggests they move in together, and Changmin says ‘ok’.  
  
  
~  
  
  
“Who is Junsu??”  
  
“We were thinking somewhere halfway between Junsu’s university and mine-”  
  
“ _Who_ is Junsu??!”  
  
“And your convenient store is in that area-”  
  
“Changmin!”  
  
“So I thought maybe you could help us find-”  
  
Yoochun throws a pack of extra-protection diapers at him. Changmin dodges too late, shooting him a resentful look as he rubs his shoulder. Serves him right. For someone who claims to be so straightforward, Changmin has been ignoring his questions all too expertly and Yoochun’s patience is wearing thin.  
  
“Now tell me who the hell is Junsu?!” he demands, waving his stapler around threateningly. It’s old, heavy, all sharp edges and unappealing angles, and Changmin takes a step back.  
  
“Why do you care?”  
  
Yoochun stops. He takes a second to wonder if he’s overreacting, before rightful indignation kicks back in and he plunges further into dramatic displays. He _did_ learn a few tricks from Jaejoong after all.  
  
“We’ve told each other _everything_ for _five_ years” he pushes heavily on the ‘five’ to emphasize the magnitude of Changmin’s treason, “and only _now_ I hear about a Junsu that you trust enough to move in together with and _don’t_ say he’s just a random guy from school. I _know_ you Shim Changmin.”  
  
“He’s an acquaintance…” Changmin provides rather unhelpfully, warily eyeing the stapler. “Can you put that thing down?”  
  
“An acquaintance?” Yoochun frowns, lowering his arm. Damn, that thing is heavy. “Since when have you known him?”  
  
“Fifteen years…?”  
  
The stapler flies and crashes into the light bulbs stand. The resulting breaking sound is music to Yoochun’s ears, and he feels a tad better seeing Changmin startle. Again, serves him right. Sneaky bastard.  
  
There is still an hour before his shift ends, but that’s an emergency situation, he tells his coworker as the girl carefully emerges from the pet food aisle. She nods, staring at the fallen rack and knowing better than to argue. They were supposed to discard it next week but a few days won’t make a big difference. It was a nice shot anyway. And it made quite an impression on Changmin, judging by the young man’s wide eyes and telling lack of reaction. Good.  
  
Sneaky, sly, treacherous bastard.  
  
Yoochun is literally fuming. There’s a ‘Junsu’ Changmin never told him about. Some guy he has known for _fifteen_ years. A ‘Junsu’ he never heard of _but_ who has been around since they were in middle school _and_ that Changmin apparently intends to live with now. Great. Fucking great. He’s not overreacting. Just monumentally pissed. Which says a lot since Yoochun is normally as anger-prone as a dead rabbit – that’s what Yoowhan says. Yoowhan can go to hell, he and his rubbish metaphors, and bring fifteen-years-acquaintance-Junsu along, and the dead rabbits with them.  
  
“What are you doing?” Changmin asks worriedly, watching from a safe distance as Yoochun furiously searches his pockets until he finds Veruca’s keys.  
  
“ _We_ are going to see that Junsu” Yoochun grabs his wrist and drags him out of the store, “I need to make sure he’s a decent guy.”  
  
“Yoochun…“  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“And while we get there, you can explain me why you call an “acquaintance” someone you’ve known for fifteen years.”  
  
  
~  
  
  
Junsu, Yoochun reluctantly has to admit after little more than ten minutes, belongs to that category of infuriating people who are simply impossible to hate.  
  
Dislike, maybe… he ponders while staring resentfully at a grin so wide it must hurt… yeah, he might be able to pull off dislike, if he tries hard enough. If only out of spite because of the way said Junsu’s face brightened in understanding as soon as they arrived earlier – “Yoochun of course! Changmin told me so much about you!”  
  
Just _great_.  
  
Yoochun glares at Changmin for the umpteenth time in the last hour – with little effect since the younger one has his head stuck inside Junsu’s fridge.  
  
“Don’t you have ice cream somewhere?”  
  
“We’re in the middle of winter, idiot.”  
  
“I know that, _idiot_.”  
  
Changmin’s head reappears and he throws Junsu a look. He’s _pouting_ , Yoochun realizes, mildly horrified. Changmin doesn’t pout with him. _Never_.  
  
“Hyung…”  
  
“In the freezer, on the right.”  
  
Changmin never called him ‘hyung’ either.  
  
Yoochun’s mood drops several levels more. He throws glares left and right for a couple minutes longer, observes it’s still useless, then decides to stare out the window until someone deigns paying attention to him.  
  
Outside, unfortunately, is not so heartening. There is Junsu’s university campus, concrete buildings and muddy lawns. The sky is dark and grey. It’s evening. Cold. Depressing. Will probably rain soon, the icy winter rain he hates and _of course_ he forgot his coat at the convenient store. Someone will surely steal it by the time he goes back – if he _can_ go back, that is, Veruca surely won’t cooperate since the whole world is against him as usual and-  
  
“Stop sulking Yoochun.”  
  
“Am not sulking.”  
  
“Sure you’re not.”  
  
Changmin appears in front of him, chocolate ice cream in hand, and – much to Yoochun’s annoyance – looking slightly amused. Much to Yoochun’s annoyance, Changmin is also on the gorgeous side today (again). At least that’s what his pounding heart obstinately proclaims, and Yoochun soon forgets about being annoyed and takes to staring instead.  
  
He still wonders how he could have been so blind during the months he spent with him, and is energetically trying to make up for it. He’s been staring an awful lot recently. It’s not helping much with his newfound obsession, and rose a host of tiny reasons for him to love Changmin more.  
  
The way he always looks people in the eye when he speaks. His eyes of course – Yoochun loves his eyes, though he is well aware that they are a nice but all-in-all plain brown. The more he looks at them, the less ordinary they seem. Changmin’s hair started growing again after the last time he cut it and now it’s framing his face nicely, a few short bangs falling on his forehead that Yoochun’s fingers are aching to touch. Not to mention Changmin’s comfy sweater that looks warm, soft and a clear invitation to hug. Yoochun sort of wants to bury his face in it and breathe in his scent like they do in movies.  
  
At least Changmin didn’t do that cliché thing of ice cream at the corner of his lips, he inwardly sighs in relief. He isn’t sure he’d be able to take that.  
  
“Yoochun?”  
  
He averts his eyes because of Changmin’s too close face and lips. His gaze finds Junsu instead. He traces the guy’s body up and down, and thinks that that ass might become the first (and only) reason why he’s glad about Changmin’s ‘100% not gay’ label.  
  
“So you want to move out?” Yoochun asks aloud to distract himself from that unpleasant trail of thought.  
  
“Mmh” Junsu nods, “I’ve been living here the past year but it was supposed to be temporary.”  
  
Yoochun looks around at the khaki paint on the walls, the decayed part of the ceiling just above the desk, the poor excuse for a lock at the door and the open closet that looks the size of a small suitcase.  
  
“I can understand why.”  
  
“And the guy who lives in the room next door isn’t here” Changmin flops on the bed, carefully taking a bit of his ice cream between his teeth, “you don’t know the worst of it.”  
  
“Bastard makes sure the whole campus knows he’s sexually active” Junsu grumbles, which doesn’t sit well with Yoochun’s messed up brain and somehow sounds very wrong when he’s trying his hardest not to stare at Changmin’s pink tongue abusing his ice cream.  
  
“Mmhh” he hums noncommittally, focusing on Junsu again with an effort, “so you two have known each other for a long time?”  
  
“Fifteen years.”  
  
So he _did_ hear that right.  
  
“Why have I never heard about you before?”  
  
If it’s rude then Junsu doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles and cocks his head to the side knowingly, like waiting for something to happen.  
  
“I told you he’s just an acquaintance” Changmin whines, and Yoochun knows just seeing Junsu’s expression that it’s not the first time he hears that.  
  
“That’s what he says” the guy comments.  
  
“And what do _you_ say?” Yoochun asks curiously, looking back and forth between the two.  
  
“That he’s my friend.”  
  
Changmin snorts and Junsu’s grin widens.  
  
“I don’t get it” Yoochun frowns.  
  
“What don’t you get?”  
  
“Am I not your friend either?” Yoochun probes cautiously, trying to hide how much the answer matters to him.  
  
“Of course you’re my friend” Changmin shrugs, “that’s just not the same.”  
  
Junsu shakes his head somewhat fondly, and Yoochun decides it’s better not to probe. He knows by now that Changmin’s logic, though infallible, belongs to Changmin only and sometimes works in ways that mere mortals shouldn’t try to comprehend.  
  
“If you say so…” he says in a low voice, mostly to himself and feeling troubled.  
  
He then notices that Junsu is staring at him a bit strangely. It increases his uneasiness so he looks away, and of course his eyes just have to stop on the dark brown chocolate spot at the corner of Changmin’s mouth. Yoochun swallows hard and decides it’s safer to look down at his feet instead since the world _is_ indeed against him today.  
  
A nagging voice inside his head comes to life that evening, juggling with _‘friend’_ , _‘acquaintance’_ and _‘love’_ , and Yoochun’s heart tightens as he wonders for the first time what exactly he means to Changmin, and if it could be less than he thought.  
  
  
~  
  
  
The first time Changmin notices her he’s at the university cafeteria, trying to decide between the safe option of ramyeon and the Western style dish of the day, which looks promising enough but he already had nasty surprises.  
  
“Excuse me…”  
  
He turns around and spots a girl about his age in the line behind him.  
  
“Do you mind if I go first?” she asks politely, showing her nearly full trail, “I’ve a class just…”  
  
Her voice trails off just as Changmin realizes it sounds familiar. He frowns, staring openly, and is still trying to place it when her eyes widen in recognition.  
  
“Oh it’s you!”  
  
She does that thing with her mouth that Changmin had unconsciously noticed before, though the circumstances made it hard to really pay attention. Like she wants to smile but for some reason holds it back, her lips thinning instead, and it’s her eyes that end up smiling for her. Deep, soft eyes. Gentle too, and now he remembers that among all the people they met during those chaotic months, she was one of the few who looked like they still remembered how to care.  
  
“You… at the hospital?” he probes, getting a vigorous nod in answer. Her hair move about her face, dark and heavy, and he unconsciously stores the image in his memories.  
  
“I volunteered there last summer” she says, hesitating a short moment before she speaks again, “…Changmin right?”  
  
He nods and she blushes slightly, a little embarrassed.  
  
“I’m sorry I only remember your first name” she adds, stepping aside as the students in the line behind her are getting impatient, “they kept telling me to pay more attention but I always forgot…”  
  
“It’s okay” Changmin shrugs, looking at her with renewed interest, “I don’t even remember yours.”  
  
A small voice in his head warns him that he’s doing it again. Too blunt. He’s about to apologize but already she’s shaking her head, now looking a bit sad.  
  
“It’s normal, you had other matters on your mind.”  
  
Changmin doesn’t like being reminded of his father’s death. Above all, he doesn’t like it when people pretend to sympathize when they have no idea how it felt. But somehow he knows she understands, even if only a little. She isn’t fake, unlike so many others. It’s nice. Refreshing. Attractive.  
  
He finds himself smiling at her without really knowing why. She starts smiling too and again, stops halfway, and Changmin feels curious about someone for the first time in a very long while.  
  
“Well, see you later I hope” she says as the silence becomes a little awkward and turns away, her figure soon disappearing amidst dozens of similar ones in the crowded cafeteria.  
  
Changmin's eyes follow her for as long as he can. Again, he doesn't really know why.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand finally a tiny, tiny look into Changmin's POV :) Please don't hate me for letting this take the road of painful unrequited love though, I swear it's not all so bad as it looks (well, it's going to stay bad for a while)...
> 
> Also, please don't look too much into Changmin's "oddities" like this friend/acquaintance thing. There will be some answers later about his personality/past, but it will remain mostly as hints here and there. Feel free to build your own image of their characters as the story unfolds ^^
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it~


	5. Of lipstick and selfish thoughts

 

Jaejoong’s 25th birthday leaves in Yoochun’s mind the same memory as all the other birthdays they celebrated together. It’s shaped as leaky mascara; a glamour beginning, neat and full of promises, that soon slumps and collapses into a fuzzy blotch of indeterminate shape and color.

The party thus starts with Jaejoong’s parents, their huge house and wary smiles, then the hide-and-seek game of avoiding everything that remotely looks like a Kim sister, Jaejoong’s ringing laughter, food, food and more food to fill all possible down times, and lastly the grand final when everything blurs into one big picture in which alcohol holds the main role.

The morning after stays painfully unchanged as well.

Maybe he’s getting too old for this, Yoochun thinks, carefully touching his skull then checking his fingers for blood, so sure he is that he must have hit his head somewhere for it to hurt so badly.

 

 

 

“We’re getting too old for this” Jaejoong mutters an hour later, collapsed on the kitchen table in front of a cup of coffee so strong that the smell alone is working wonders for Yoochun’s comatose brain.

“Talk for yourself” he mumbles, “’perfectly fine here.”

Jaejoong raises his head to look at him and sniggers.

“Say that again when you’ve cleaned your face.”

Yoochun rubs his right cheek and throws him a dark look, not too happy to be reminded of the moment when three of Jaejoong’s sisters got a hold of him the night before. He hopes that it wasn’t a permanent marker in their hands.

“Tell me it’s not that bad…” he begs, too scared to go check the damage himself.

“Declaration of undying love on your forehead” Jaejoong squints, “the rest looks like kindergarten drawings.”

“Hearts?”

“Everywhere.”

Yoochun whimpers.

“I’m supposed to meet Changmin later today.”

“So?”

“I can’t go like that."

“Why?”

Yoochun pauses. The obvious answer is that going out like this would be mortifying, but Jaejoong being Jaejoong, he won’t pick up that one. Another possibility would be that Changmin nags enough as it is about how he should grow up now, they aren’t teenagers anymore, look at yourself and this and that. Yoochun doubts that the younger man’s opinion of him would improve after he sees him with “I ♥ U 4ever” proudly displayed on the forehead. No. Changmin would probably think he went to some shady hostess club. Or worse.  
But the actual answer is absurd – absurd in a now irritatingly familiar way. Something like, maybe, he doesn’t want Changmin to get ideas… Yoochun isn’t with anyone, was never serious about anyone to begin with, but… but.

Why ‘but’?

He groans and closes his eyes, refraining just in time from banging his head on the table.

“Why, Jae?”

“Why ‘why’?”

“Why is it so complicated?”

“What is?"

“Everything.”

“Is that depression?”

Yoochun opens his eyes again, glowering.

“Don’t look at me like that”, Jaejoong crosses his arms defensively. “I’m just trying to help. You’ve been weird recently.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird.”

“That sure helps.”

“Even Yooseon said you looked out of it yesterday.”

“Yooseon?”

“With the purple hair.”

“Oh…”

Yoochun frowns. ‘Purple hair’ Kim sister is the one who cornered him in the kitchen after the birthday cake came out. She started flirted with him – nothing unusual, it’s like a game between them every year – but now he does remember brushing her off rather rudely.

“Wasn’t in the mood…”

“She said you looked sad.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I think you look sad too.”

Yoochun stifles a protest when he realizes that the other is actually being pretty serious now. Not the best time to talk but Jaejoong isn’t one to bother about timing. He will happily shoot down the last of Yoochun’s intoxicated brain cells with firing questions if he believes that’s the way to wriggle an answer out of him. Though said answer is in fact simple. It holds in one name only.

“It’s about Changmin right?”

Yoochun opens his mouth in shock. When did Jaejoong learn telepathy?

“Why-”

“The last time you looked sad it was because of him” Jaejoong sniffs, eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s not _because_ of him” he retorts, “he just-“

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t _know_ him.”

“He makes you sad.”

Jaejoong’s tone is final and Yoochun sighs heavily. This is going nowhere.

“I’m sad on my own, ok?!” he argues, ignoring his growing headache and feeling increasingly irritated, “I don’t need anyone to be sad! I’ll be sad if I want to, maybe I’m happy to be sad and-“

“So you’re sad.”

“I-“

“Depression?”

“NO!”

“Then it’s love.”

Yoochun only manages a dumb stare. Jaejoong must have interpreted it correctly because he now looks a little smug.

“You’re weird recently. People become weird when they’re depressed or in love.”

“That’s…”

… _absurd_ , right. Totally absurd. Yoochun thinks Jaejoong might actually be a very wise person, in spite of how his hair are sticking out in all directions and even with the red lipsticks kisses his sisters were adamant about leaving all over their baby brother’s face the night before.

“Alright” Yoochun surrenders.

“In love?”

“In love.”

“With whom?”

He resumes staring. Jaejoong looks dead serious. Yoochun mentally cancels everything he thought ten seconds earlier about wisdom, suddenly feeling very tired and a little heartsick. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to hide and why.

“Changmin of course” he says, unable to suppress a sharp twinge in his chest. “I’m in love with Changmin, ok?”

Jaejoong grimaces.

“I’d rather you be depressed.”

Yoochun’s heart tightens even more, because he knows that Jaejoong may be right… Jaejoong who now turned quiet and uncharacteristically thoughtful. Normally Yoochun would sense danger here but as it is, his mind is not working with him and it’s too late when Jaejoong finally raises his head after a long silence.

“I’m going.”

“…What?”

“You said you’d meet Changmin later. I’m going too.”

Jaejoong stands up before he can argue and walks out of the room decidedly. Yoochun slumps in his chair after a few seconds, a tardy protest dying on his lips. Jaejoong rarely takes matters into his own hands but when he does, he usually drops them. Yoochun thinks of Changmin. He thinks that he _really_ doesn’t want Jaejoong to drop that one. Now would be a good time to panic, if his body wasn’t already reeling as it struggles to overcome the combined effects of hangover and a sleepless night.

He rubs his face harshly and downs what remains of coffee in Jaejoong’s cup – he’ll need it. Then all that’s left for Yoochun to do is scrub his face clean, and pray that Jaejoong will at least agree to remove the lipstick from his own.

 

~

 

“You’re late” Changmin observes flatly as soon as Yoochun picks up his call.

He’s walking back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop in an attempt to keep warm, avoiding puddles of half-melted snow. At least it’s not raining, he thinks sullenly, sniffing a little. He should have taken the time to grab a scarf instead of rushing out earlier. So much for not being late.

“I know” he hears Yoochun pant in the phone, “not my fault, I’ll explain later. We’re nearly here.”

“ _We_?”

Changmin frowns. He’s used to Yoochun being late and that’s not really a problem, he just complains for the sake of it. He doesn’t like that ‘we’ though. Their moments are _theirs_. Just the two of them. They never made an explicit rule of it, but he thought that was settled.

“…He said he wanted to meet you.”

“Who?”

“Jae. He-”

“No.”

Changmin halts, his frown deepening.

“…Why?” Yoochun sounds puzzled. “It’s just Jaejoong, you’d have met him sooner or later.”

Changmin doesn’t want to meet anyone. Maybe… maybe he didn’t quite face the truth here, and in a very childish, very _selfish_ way, he likes to think that he has Yoochun all to himself. That is not a sensible attitude though, and certainly _not_ one he can let him witness.

“I…” Changmin’s voice trails off, and he mentally shakes himself, “where are you now?”

“We just got off the bus” Yoochun answers then says something that he doesn’t hear well, surely meant for Jaejoong, and laughs. And it’s ridiculous but that’s enough for Changmin to feel left out already.

“We’ll be here in five minutes” Yoochun adds, talking to him once more, “sorry again.”

“That’s okay” he answers quietly.

“…Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“If it really bothers you I can tell Jae-“

“No” Changmin cuts him again, closes his eyes, and swallows. “I mean, you’d better hurry up. I’m freezing.”

Yoochun chuckles and promises they’ll be here soon. He ends the call first and Changmin is left staring at his phone, upset for reasons that he knows are stupid and angry at himself for letting them upset him. He’s not 15 anymore and friendship is no longer about competition. Yoochun sees Jaejoong and him the same. Or maybe he doesn’t and sometimes he compares, but even that is perfectly fine. Of course it is. They are all adults.

Still, for some reason Changmin can’t stand the idea of staying here alone until Yoochun and Jaejoong arrive, _together_ , and he goes in the coffee shop instead of waiting outside as he always does. He purposefully chooses another table than usual and looks around uneasily, not liking that _their_ place will also be Jaejoong’s from now on. He starts biting on his lower lip unconsciously, feeling nervous. Unbalanced.

Changmin likes lines.

He likes that up till now, Yoochun filled spaces of his life that included the two of them alone – a secluded territory, hidden and safe. Junsu doesn’t count because Changmin knows him and he can draw a line here too. But Jaejoong is different. Unknown. Foreign. A vague presence that didn’t matter to him as long as it stayed far and could be ignored. But now it’s going to be real. It’s going to change lines. It’s going to blur them, Changmin fears, and that’s like a threat to him.

 

~

 

Yoochun sometimes tried to picture what Jaejoong and Changmin’s first meeting would be like.

Most of the scenarios he came up with featured Jaejoong glowing in full random glory and Changmin staring in amazement at the fact that such a person could even exist. Some of them had Changmin trying to throttle Jaejoong once the nonsense level would threaten to fry his desperately rational brain. In the worst of cases, the two would magically become bestest best friends and gang up against him, and Yoochun’s spirit would die a painful death sandwiched in between dry logic and insanity.

The actual first meeting hence proves to be interesting, though slightly tense. And quiet.

_Very_ quiet.

So quiet Yoochun can hear himself munch on his lemon cupcake. He takes a mouthful and swallows as silently as possible, careful not to disturb the staring contest happening on either side of him. To his credit, Jae tried. He only got monosyllabic answers in return and eventually settled for returning Changmin’s stare. He obviously made this into some kind of “the first who looks down loses” game and Yoochun isn’t going to dissuade him. Let him have his fun.

As it is, he’s more intrigued by Changmin’s reaction. The young man doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t seem upset. Not even sulky.

If anything, he looks _shy_ which is surprising.

Also awfully cute, in Yoochun’s opinion. He’s doing his best not to look at him because Changmin’s slightly red face, fumbling hands and unsure expression all have the butterflies in his stomach swarming. It gets a lot worse when the young man starts nibbling on his lower lip _again_. And Jaejoong’s insistent nudges under the table aren’t helping at all.

Yoochun eats the last of his cupcake as slowly as possible but inevitably, he ends up with an empty plate. And he still holds the unenviable position of the middle guy. Meaning they expect him to make the first step and break the ice – and soon, because at this rate Changmin and Jaejoong might as well be standing on opposite sides of the Antarctica.

“So…” he starts reluctantly. The two others immediately turn to him – though Jaejoong does so a split second after Changmin, and not-so-discreetly flashes a triumphant smile. Yoochun refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Are you moving in with Junsu soon?” he asks instead, venturing a look at Changmin and regretting it as soon as their eyes meet. He’s pretty sure a stuttering heart is seriously damaging to his health in the long term.

Changmin nods after a while, hesitant for a second. Then resumes staring at Jaejoong like he suddenly grew a second head.

Yoochun would cry in frustration but he has no energy for that right now. He shrugs, defeated, choosing to focus on his persistent headache and to _not_ look at Changmin if that’s how he’s going to be. He busies himself with picking the remaining crumbs of his cupcake with his forefinger instead until Jaejoong nudges him with his foot once more, so hard it hurts this time. Yoochun shoots him a glare. His friend stares pointedly and stands up.

“Toilets” he mumbles. The look he throws before leaving says ‘you owe me’, and Yoochun mentally thanks whoever it was up there that sent a ray of timely tact down on Jaejoong.

It remains uncomfortably quiet after he’s gone. Changmin still looks tense and Yoochun still has no idea why, admittedly a bit disappointed by the other’s reaction.

“Is something wrong…?” he breaks the silence tentatively at last, looking at Changmin again and nervously tapping his fingers on the table.

A shake of the head.

“…Are you sure?”

A nod.

“Cat got your tongue?”

A glare.

“Then could you _please_ talk to me?”

Changmin glares harder, eyes narrowing. He started crushing a sugar cube between his fingers. If Yoochun still had his sanity with him, he’d know it’s time to run away before someone gets hurt. As it is, he finds that look adorable. It makes him want to poke at Changmin’s face. Seems like love also made him suicidal.

“You look like that kid at the convenient store” he blurts out.

“…?”

“I told you about him. The one with the cereals.”

“…I’d never throw food on the floor.”

“You’d eat it all instead.”

“That-“

“And be a pain in the ass till someone buys you more.”

That finally brings a pinched smile to Changmin’s lips.

“You say that like I’m a spoiled brat.”

“You _are_ a spoiled brat.”

“I’m not” Changmin mutters. It lacks the usual bite and snark.

“What’s wrong?” Yoochun asks again, leaning forward.

“Nothing.”

“Changmin.”

“No.”

The young man crosses his arms stubbornly, staring a hole through the table.

Yoochun pauses, unsettled, having never seen that side of him before. They don’t hide anything from each other, there’s no point in doing so. He can’t see what could possibly make Changmin embarrassed when Yoochun knows at what age he stopped sucking his thumb and his favorite X-movie actress.

“Is it because you don’t like Jae…?” he probes, frowning at the idea. He has known all along that those two would mix like oil and water, but still. It’s not like Changmin to shun other people altogether right off the bat.

“I’ve nothing against Jaejoong.”

“Then what is it?”

Changmin sighs, uncrosses his arms and faces him again, looking a bit wary.

“I’m horrible at this, ok?”

“At what?”

“…People.”

Yoochun stares blankly.

“You’re horrible at people?”

Another nod.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That your Jaejoong is going to hate me as soon as I open my big mouth.”

Changmin resumes compulsively crushing what remains of his sugar cube but he now looks so damn depressed and dark that Yoochun has to repress the sudden urge to laugh.

“It’s _Jaejoong_ ” he says, grinning widely despite himself, “he _can’t_ hate you… he can’t hate _anyone_ actually. That’s like, physically impossible you know?”

“Wanna bet?” Changmin mutters. The sugar cube has been successfully reduced to nothing and he’s now wiping his sticky fingers on a napkin. Yoochun wonders if it really would be _that_ weird if he said that he wants to lick them. He’s way too easily distracted those days.

“Changmin-“

“I always screw up” the young man cuts him, avoiding his eyes. “I say it all wrong then everyone thinks I’m rude but it’s just what I think, really, and I don’t do it on purpose but that’s what they all think and I’ve had enough of that, honestly.”

“It was just fine with me.”

“We’d been talking for _years_!” Changmin retorts hotly. “It was just texts but you already knew me, sort of.”

“That-“

“And I didn’t even want to meet you at first.”

Yoochun takes a moment to ponder over the words, remembering Changmin’s reluctance to meet. Then reminiscing their first encounter, and he has to admit that some things the younger told him that day would easily have upset him had he not known him well enough already. Still, it can’t be _that_ bad.

“Junsu-“

“I was _seven_ when I met him” Changmin immediately counters. “We were neighbors and he kept insisting to come to my house to play even if he always came back home crying because of something I’d told him and his parents even came to talk to mine about it and because of that stupid _idiot_ I had to go see a shrink and everyone at school thought I was _nuts_.”

Yoochun didn’t mean to laugh. He really didn’t but it’s out already and Changmin stops in the middle of his rant, looking absolutely outraged. Yoochun tries to stifle another giggle and ends up choking on air.

“You find it _funny_?”

“Yes” he says, letting out a strangled squeak when Changmin takes to glaring indignantly. “Don’t make that face, please, it’s even worse.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Yes” Yoochun bites on the inside of his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. “Now I promise Jaejoong won’t hate you, could you please just _talk_ to him?”

“…”

“Come _on_.”

“What if he gets angry?”

“He won’t.”

“But-“

“He _won’t_ , and if he does you can blame it on me.”

Changmin eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t get to answer as Jaejoong finally reappears, smiling like nothing happened. He sits down and throws a questioning look at him. Yoochun nods, trying hard not to laugh at Changmin’s scrunched up face – he can _see_ the wheels turning inside his head.

“Well” Jaejoong starts, “I was-“

“You’ve got red on your face” Changmin cuts him, all shyness abruptly gone, his tone sharp and inquisitive. Now _that_ sounds more like him, but Yoochun doesn’t get to rejoice.

Said ‘red’ is on Jaejoong’s neck, right under his left ear, and has the distinct shape of female lips. Yoochun mutters a curse. At least now he knows why Changmin was staring. Hell, he’s probably been dying to say it all along. A glance to his right tells him that Jaejoong’s eyes widened in surprise, but his friend shows no sign of embarrassment.

“Aaah it was my birthday last night” he says happily instead, “it was my present!”

Yoochun mentally facepalms.

“I see.”

Now Yoochun doesn’t want to laugh anymore. He wishes there was a way to stop the oh-so-logical deductions that he knows are unraveling in Changmin’s head but judging by his expression, it’s already too late.

“Well, you see” he bravely tries anyway, “there is-“

“Some people find it gross but it’s all love” Jaejoong adds matter-of-factly. Yoochun winces. He knows Jaejoong is talking about how his eight sisters still baby him and shower him with kisses and put bows in his hair and other childish eccentricities that any normal guy would find creepy but that Jaejoong finds cute and lovely. Yoochun _knows_ , but Changmin doesn’t.

Changmin is silent.

Changmin is most certainly picturing Jaejoong in a decadent bed with a dozen girls wearing maid outfits and calling him “master”.

“Don’t you think people should be open to all kinds of loves?!” Jaejoong goes ahead brightly, oblivious of the ominous change in atmosphere. Yoochun wants to hit him.

He regrets he didn’t do it when Jaejoong throws him a totally unsubtle sly look.

“Take Yoochun for instance-”

“I’d rather not.”

“Yoochun is very open to love” Jaejoong ignores him. Yoochun’s hands twitch.

Changmin is keeping his face carefully blank, which unfortunately means that he’s taking all of this very seriously. Yoochun liked it better when he looked nervous and shy and cute. At least there was something for him to enjoy.

Sadly Jaejoong still isn’t done _‘_ helping’.

“Yooseon said it yesterday, right?” he turns to look at him and Yoochun begs him to stop with his eyes, in vain, “that you are full of love. It’s too bad _some people_ don’t get it.”

He insists on the “some people” with a heavy look at Changmin. Subtlety was never Jaejoong’s strong point. Nor is discretion. Yoochun’s face is burning and he thinks that with a little luck he’ll self-combust soon and be spared the outcome of that talk.

“…I still think she’s interested in you” Jaejoong adds mercilessly as an afterthought. “She says you’re different from the other guys.”

“…It was you right?” Changmin finally speaks, looking straight at Jaejoong, his voice colder than Yoochun can ever remember and without the slightest hint of sarcasm. “On the phone, that night.”

“Mmh?” Jaejoong tilts his head, perplexed.

“The ‘pervert’ guy.”

Jaejoong frowns, of course unable to link that last comment with that fateful night at Jungmoo’s years ago.

“I was speaking about Yooseon, why would you say that?” he tenses, eyes darkening.

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“What do you have against her?”

“Me?” Changmin scoffs, “I don’t care what whore you sleep with but-“

Yoochun jumps when Jaejoong’s lemonade flies into Changmin’s face, immediately followed by Yoochun’s latte. Next would have been Jaejoong’s fist if it wasn’t for a staff’s quick intervention. Ten seconds later Jaejoong himself is storming out of the place after he spat a flow of colorful insults at Changmin’s dumbstruck face, nearly tripping on his way to the door and screaming that Yoochun had better explain him how he can get along with a mute asshole who only opens his mouth to spill revolting filth.

Changmin barely reacts at all, absently wiping his wet face with his sleeve, visibly in shock and unaware of the napkin a helpful waiter is presenting him.

As for Yoochun, he’s trying to remember if he mentioned the Kim sisters before, or the strange ways they love their brother, or the fact that Jaejoong wouldn’t care being called the worst names but the only people allowed to talk bad of his family are Yoochun and himself.

And maybe he did mention all this, but he supposes he can’t blame Changmin for misunderstanding.

“Yoochun…”

A wavering voice brings him back to the now, which is not at all pleasant.

Everyone in the coffee shop is staring at Changmin, with expressions ranging from barely disguised amusement to open contempt. If Yoochun was a little more on the brave side, he’d snap and glower at them all until he made each one of them regret even looking at him. But as it is, Yoochun is more on the chicken side. He ends up staring as well.

Changmin’s face and shirt are a mess. He hasn’t moved at all, still stunned by Jaejoong’s outburst. He looks a bit dazed, and doesn’t seem to notice when the waiter starts gently jabbing at his face with the napkin. The guy knows them well. He also knows Changmin’s sharp tongue, learnt not to mind too much, and probably more or less understands what just happened.

Changmin’s gaze wanders around the room and finally stops on Yoochun – eyes wide, questioning and confused, with a hint of reproach and ‘I told you so’. Yoochun’s heart starts stuttering again. It’s the big eyes, he knows. It’s Changmin’s miserable expression, and the urge to make it better. He can only stare back helplessly. Yoochun _wants_ to explain (also take him in his arms and say it’s all fine, bring him back home like he’d a wet puppy then cuddle all night long in front of lovey-dovey dramas and other stuff that will happen in his head only but one is allowed to dream), unfortunately there’s a furious Jaejoong on a rampage outside, and he knows where priorities are.

He clears his throat and mutters a few unclear words, trying to get across that he’s sorry but really has to go. He nods gratefully when the waiter says that he’ll take care of everything. Yoochun leaves the coffee shop without a glance back at Changmin’s hurt expression, because _that_ would wreak havoc in his priorities order and Jaejoong would resent it for the rest of their lives.

 

~

 

It takes the best part of the evening until Yoochun can make Jaejoong calm down. By that time, the older man stopped screaming, cursing and throwing things, and reluctantly agreed that maybe what he said earlier could have been confusing.

He also decided that Changmin was a complete bastard. He won’t listen to anything Yoochun has to say about it, and it’s only after repeated attempts to convince him that Changmin is worth a second chance that Yoochun finally gets why.

“He makes you sad” Jaejoong cuts his rambling, his gaze unusually hard.

Yoochun stops, realizing at last what this is all about.

“Jae…”

“I don’t like him.”

Yoochun says nothing. Irrationally, he’s angry at Jaejoong for not going along and letting him indulge in feelings that’ll lead him nowhere (or if they _do_ lead him somewhere, it probably won’t be pretty).

“Fine…” he answers curtly after a long silence, “fine. I see you’ve made up your mind already. Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

Yoochun stands up and when he leaves, Jaejoong doesn’t try to hold him back.

 

~

 

Changmin messed up again. He isn’t sure how it came down to this, but in a matter of seconds he became the first person on Jaejoong hate’s list. Way to prove Yoochun wrong.

He sighs and stretches his aching arms and legs, feeling quite dejected. He’s been sitting in the hall of Yoochun’s building for hours now, waiting for him to come back. He tried calling but Yoochun never answered. Changmin should have gone home ages ago. He doesn’t even know if the older man will be back here tonight and the rational part of his brain says he’d better leave him alone anyway, but he can’t stand the idea of going back to his own place and wait there for a sign from Yoochun that it’s alright now, like a scolded kid hoping for forgiveness.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips again and Changmin rubs his eyes tiredly. That’s exactly why he didn’t want to meet Jaejoong, he muses, playing absently with the handles of the plastic bag where he put his wet clothes. The waiter at the coffee shop lent him a dry shirt; it’s too big and not warm enough for that time of the year but he can hardly complain.

No one listens to rude and insensitive people when they whine about the unfairness of life anyway.

He screwed up and now Jaejoong hates him, and maybe Yoochun does a little as well. The older man wouldn’t even look at him when he left earlier. Changmin’s heart tightens and closes his eyes, only to open them a moment later when the hall lights are switched on. He blinks to adjust to the change and gets up to his feet as soon as he spots Yoochun standing near the door.

“…What are you doing here?” the older man blurts out, bewildered.

“Waiting for you of course, why else?” Changmin flatly states the obvious before he can stop himself. He winces inwardly. Now that didn’t sound repentant at all, and Yoochun frowns as he comes closer. Not good.

“I tried calling but you didn’t answer” he adds hastily.

“…I was going to call you later” Yoochun answers after a silence and starts walking toward the stairs, Changmin trailing behind him uneasily. They don’t speak a word until they reach his floor. By that time Changmin’s heart feels twice its normal weight and half its normal size, and he still cannot find anything appropriate to say and make things better.

“You should’ve gone home” Yoochun comments at last, blatantly avoiding looking at him as he searches for his keys in his pockets.

Changmin doesn’t answer, busy trying to decide if the other is indeed angry at him or not. It’s hard to tell. Yoochun has never been angry at him before.

He has yet to come to a conclusion when Yoochun opens the door and wordlessly motions for him to come in. The place hasn’t changed much since the last time he came here – the night his father died – and judging by the discomfort written all over Yoochun’s face, Changmin isn’t the only one feeling ill-at-ease. He’s clearly not welcome here, he thinks resignedly. He’s about to just apologize and leave when Yoochun starts talking – still not quite looking at him, standing awkwardly by the door.

It’s messy and rushed, and Changmin realizes only after a few seconds that he’s explaining what went wrong with Jaejoong earlier. As usual, it’s one of those stupid misunderstandings-turned-calamities because of Changmin’s utter incapacity to shut his big mouth or at least find diplomatic ways to voice his opinion, if he must express it.

“So that’s it” Yoochun concludes abruptly after an awkward silence, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples tiredly. “I guess you couldn’t know.”

“He hates me now?”

“Can you stop with that?!” Yoochun’s eyes snap open. “No one hates no one, okay?”

“That’s not the impression I got” Changmin retorts, remembering all too clearly every word Jaejoong threw in his face earlier. He normally wouldn’t care that much, he’s used to it, but this is _Jaejoong_ , and Jaejoong means _Yoochun_ , and Yoochun is _important_ so-

“He doesn’t hate you.”

That was a tad too vehement and unfortunately for Yoochun, Changmin knows him by heart. He scoffs.

“You suck at lying.”

“ _Right_ , I suck” Yoochun finally snaps, his gaze hardening, “now if you have other civilities to say, go ahead, I’d love to hear it.”

Here.

“…now you’re angry” Changmin whispers, his heart sinking.

“I’m not!”

Changmin doesn’t answer and looks at him instead. Yoochun is obviously on the edge. His expression is closed, tense, lacking the easy smile that always wanders at the corners of his mouth. His eyes aren’t as warm as usual. They lost the comforting fondness Changmin is used to finding there – like it’s fine to say and do whatever he wants because Yoochun doesn’t mind. Yoochun likes Changmin just the way he is and he wouldn’t want him to change. Yoochun isn’t like the others.

Except this time, even Yoochun had enough.

“Alright…” Changmin starts slowly, keeping his face blank as his grip on his plastic bag tightens, “alright… I guess it’s better if I go now.”

He pauses.

“Tell Jaejoong I’m sorry.”

For all that’s worth, Changmin can at least admit that he was the one who messed up here. He just doesn’t know if it’ll be enough. It rarely is. He’s about to open the door, his heart heavy inside his chest and fighting a stupid urge to cry, when a hand grabs his wrist.

“Changmin-ah…”

“You should sleep soon, you look tired.”

Changmin tries to free his hand but Yoochun only tightens his hold.

“I spent three hours dealing with Jaejoong and you’ve no idea how bitchy he can be” the older man says, his voice nearly toneless but for a tinge of warning, “so you’d better not act up now or I swear I’m locking you both up in the same room and I’ll see which one comes out alive.”

Changmin stills, wondering if it’s okay to smile.

“Is that a threat?”

“Damn right.”

“You’re angry?”

“Yes” Yoochun concedes very softly, his grip on Changmin’s wrist relaxing a little, “…yes. But not at you.”

“For real?”

Yoochun lets go of his hand, staring disbelievingly.

“What are you? Six years old?”

Changmin hits him with his plastic bag, smiling widely despite himself as his heart suddenly puffs up back to its usual size – much, much lighter now.

“I don’t want you to be angry at me” he mutters, blowing his cheeks – an unconscious habit he picked from Junsu.

“Are you trying to be cute now??”

There’s just the right amount of teasing in Yoochun’s voice. The warmth is back in his dark deep eyes, gentle laughter dancing on his lips, his expression once more open and friendly. Changmin feels a little stupid because it’s weird to take those issues to heart. He can’t help it though. Yoochun is special to him, very special. He doesn’t want to damage what they have over something as ridiculous as lipstick on a best friend’s cheek. As it is, Yoochun doesn’t seem to hold the whole Jaejoong-fiasco against him, and Changmin can barely hide how relieved that makes him.

Actually he can’t.

He moves forward on impulse, driven by a very uncharacteristic surge of clinginess, and takes him in his arms. Yoochun instantly goes very still. The hug soon turns awkward so Changmin lets go and laughs embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his neck. For some reason it’s hard to meet the older man’s eyes.

“I’m treating you to dinner” he offers at last to break the tense silence. “You can choose where but that French restaurant down the street is out of the question.”

He expects a witty comeback or an unreasonable request of sorts but Yoochun doesn’t take the bait. He merely nods, looking a little dazed. Changmin thinks Jaejoong must _really_ be a handful.

“…So are we going?”

Yoochun blinks, then shakes his head and seems to get a grip at last.

“Yes…” he starts and nods again, vigorously this time “yes! I saw a Russian-“

“No.”

“You said wherever I wanted.”

“I take it back.”

“You can’t.”

“I’m not magnanimous like you.”

“…”

“You still don’t know what that means, right?”

Yoochun tries to kick him but Changmin is already running out of the apartment, laughing, his heart so _light_ inside his chest it feels like he’s flying as he runs down the stairs. The older man catches up with him in the street and grabs him in a chokehold. Changmin loses his balance and takes Yoochun down with him, and none of them cares about the weird looks they’re getting, sprawled on the sidewalk like a pair of fools, laughing breathlessly and holding onto each other.

It’s all it takes. Just like this, _they_ are fine again, and Changmin throws his friend a fond look as Yoochun keeps giggling next to him, clinging onto his shoulder for support. He whispers a “thank you” in his head, his heart full to the brim, and finds himself hoping nothing will ever change.

That’s a foolish wish, he knows. That’s not how life goes, but really… really, Changmin thinks, gripping Yoochun’s hand and releasing it after a brief squeeze, he hopes that _this_ is the one thing he’ll never have to let go of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here to new chapter, and to more of Changmin (not the best side of him I'm afraid XD). Feel free to be uncomfortable at how easily/harshly he judges and condemns... ^^ There were some hints but it wasn't so obvious before, since we glimpsed him only through Yoochun's eyes, who doesn't really take offence given his own personality and the peculiar way they got acquainted with each other.
> 
> Another issue I'd like to clarify: there won't be any flashbak and (again) no big revelation in later chapters about their pasts. Here I'm letting you interpret the allusions to Changmin's teenage days and troubles as you wish. I guess it's not so hard any more to picture what kind of kid he would have been back then... And hopefully it also sheds a new light on how much he values his current relationship with Yoochun :)
> 
> Thank you for reading/commenting!


	6. Of escapes and October 24

“Hyung…”

“It’ll be fine.”

“But-“

“I said it’ll be fine”, Yoochun draws on his cigarette, the first one in years, but doesn’t find it in himself to feel guilty about it. Today he really needs one.

He shoots a glance at Yoowhan. His brother’s eyes are too big, too dark, too anxious. The cold neon lights outside the convenient store make his face seem even paler than it is already, younger, and Yoochun looks away, his stomach churning.

“…Dad looked about to hit her.”

“He’d never raise his hand on mom.”

“I know but he still-“

“He was angry, that’s all” Yoochun cuts him again, feeling sick. He throws his half-smoked cigarette on the ground and crushes it under his sole, rubbing his face wearily. He should go home but Yoowhan is worried, they can’t part ways like this. He has to fix it first. It’s going to be fine anyway, it’s not the first time after all. It will get better. It will, surely.

“…She was crying.”

“…”

“She hasn’t cried in front of us since… since _then_.”

Yoowhan’s voice fell to a whisper and just like this, Yoochun knows he’s fighting tears. He doesn’t need to look, he just knows. He doesn’t want to look.

He’s staring down at the ground and instead of asphalt, it is tiles he sees. Row after row of shining white tiles, perfectly aligned, spotless and cold, and Yoowhan’s sobs echoing loudly in the bathroom late into the night – but not loud enough to cover the faint sound of their parents’ shouts from the living room. So many years ago.

“It’ll be alright”, Yoochun adds without thinking, out of habit. He’s staring down at the ground and pretending the tears on his mother’s face earlier never happened.

“…Yes” Yoowhan says in a very low voice next to him, “yes, it’ll be alright.”

Yoochun doesn’t need to look to know he’s crying.

 

~

 

Her name is Jungmi.

Changmin saw her again at the cafeteria several times – encounters that were partly due to chance, but also to his more or less conscious habit of going for lunch around the time when he first met her. It wasn’t long before they ended up at the same table for lunch.

Changmin naturally feels comfortable around her, which is unusual but seems reciprocal. Even more surprising as far as he’s concerned, Jungmi doesn’t seem to mind his knack for saying the exact wrong thing at the wrong moment. Though she did look a little bewildered the first time, when Changmin pointedly stared at her brand new phone and said he didn’t understand the need for people to always get their hands on the latest stuff when what they already have works perfectly well, it’s stupid, don’t you think it’s a waste?

A week later, when Changmin observed yellow didn’t suit her, Jungmi retorted it was weird hearing this from a guy who had one set of clothes set for each day of the week. Changmin didn’t think anyone would notice. He was about to start explaining and embarrass himself further when Jungmi offhandedly commented that she liked the Thursday one – his favorite jeans, and the dark grey shirt that his sisters got for him two years ago and that Changmin liked because it went well with everything and made him look older than his age.

Now she either ignores every unpleasant comment or tells him to mind his own business, and sometimes throws something back at him. The last time she did he found himself speechless while she just laughed and laughed, and for once didn’t hold back.

Before he knew it he was staring. He watched as Jungmi wiped a tear of laughter at the corner of her eye and smiled, and this time it nearly, _nearly_ felt whole – only lacking maybe a tinge of carefreeness, a spark of innocence and freedom because it’s fine, it’s _right_ to sometimes let masks fall and allow others to have a glimpse at who you really are.

Soon, Changmin finds he really likes who Jungmi seems to really be.

 

 

 

Barely two months after they first met at the cafeteria, he asks her to wait for him near the university entrance after her classes ended. She shows up a bit late, and he notices how her hair is more nicely arranged than usual and the nervous smile on her lips.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, point-blank as usual.

She shakes her head and Changmin takes her hand. He smiles when she intertwines their fingers.  There is no need for words. That’s how simple love is.

 

~

 

Big – that’s how Changmin’s hand feels in his. Too big, but Yoochun’s fingers are long so he can wrap them around Changmin’s just fine. Still, it doesn’t quite fit – like two pieces of a puzzle being forced together.

It’s warm though. Changmin’s hand is warm while Yoochun’s hand is cold, and that warmth is what keeps them connected together as rain falls and falls in the streets around them, washing away days of monotony. Pouring rain that blurs colors blue and drowns the city sounds – except when a car passes by sometimes and it’s like a huge body of water has come to life, swelling and rushing past them only to fade away quickly in the distance, unconcerned by the two still figures hidden under a roof overhand in one of Seoul’s old, tortuous streets.

Rain drums relentlessly and erases it all, and leaves them alone in an empty world. Alone but together, hands joined, fingers intertwined tightly as if to ensure that the most important reality is here, right here, entirely living in that simple contact, within the feelings that touch is sheltering.

Yoochun’s hand is cold, but he distantly remembers how his grandma used to tell him that the people with cold hands had the warmest hearts.

Next to him Changmin is talking. Yoochun isn’t listening. He’s looking at him – at how perfect everything is. The outline of his face, the tempting red of his lips and the secret of his eyes, brown tinged in gold and black and every unnamed color in between… the strand of wet hair plastered on his forehead and drawing a funny little comma there, the white expanse of skin of his neck begging to be touched and explored. And again, Changmin’s hand so warm, so tightly wrapped around his.

Everything so perfect, and everything Yoochun’s.

_His_ , all of it. No one else’s. It was Yoochun who found it first. It was Yoochun who fell so deep. It was Yoochun who uncovered how Changmin _had_ to be loved; no one else but him can do it right.

He doesn’t want to talk. He leans to the side and kisses Changmin, gently, until the air between them changes, slowed and charged, and he knows the younger closed his eyes… until nothing matters but the barely there warmth of their lips touching, the certainty of their joined hands, the fierce heat in their hearts as rain won’t stop pouring. The world is such a cold place but Changmin’s lips are moving against his, asking for more and silently drawing him close. It is a spell, one without words.

Yoochun concedes a kiss, and another. He tilts his head and lets him taste and take all he wants while his own hands found a way under Changmin’s coat, seeking heat. He’s craving it, craving fire, passion and skin and something _more_ , _needing_ … needing _him_ more than anything else because it’s only like this that he’s breathing and living, living for real, so intensely it hurts, so much it-

“Yoochun?”

A slow blink.

“…You weren’t listening to a word of what I was saying, right?”

“I was listening” Yoochun shakes his head, making a huge effort to come back to the now.

To Changmin’s room in the small apartment he’s now renting with Junsu. To rain, yes, but muffled, falling on the other side of the open window. Also to the insurmountable distance separating them –Yoochun sitting on the bed while Changmin is pacing back and forth, and telling him about how he fell in love.

And it’s so much easier to pretend that the lively light in Changmin’s eyes is only meant for him. That Yoochun is the reason why he seems so carefree those days. That the rich, vibrant undertone in his voice – happiness – was born because of him too.

“I was saying, Jungmi is studying Arts but I’m not sure what she-“

“No one cares.”

Changmin stops pacing and glares. Yoochun does his very best to bring a teasing smile to his lips.

“Is she pretty?”

“…I suppose.”

Yoochun rolls his eyes and Changmin crosses his arms, watching him a tad warily.

“I mean I find her pretty but maybe you wouldn’t because it’s different according to people so I don’t want you to get ideas like I _know_ you will but-“

“I wasn’t asking for an essay.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

Changmin’s face is flushed. He’s embarrassed… restless, smiling for no reason, his voice louder than usual, his expression not as guarded. A little less caught up in that damn yoke of logic and lines not to cross. And he also looks gentler. Younger. His eyes radiate softness that Yoochun never saw there before, and it’s not his fault if he notices all this. Yoochun has been watching him for so long, he has no idea how to stop looking.

Changmin is beautiful when he’s in love, and he doesn’t even know. But Yoochun sees it all.

It hurts.

He looks at Changmin’s hand – too big – then looks down at his own. Cold. So cold, when the one warmth he wants exists in his imagination only.

But that’s okay.

Yoochun can still dream delusions into life. He can dream _them_. He can dream of their linked hands… dream of an embrace lost somewhere in unrelenting rain, of Changmin’s body pressed so close to his that everything cold in the world would melt in the span of a kiss, in the heat of feelings, in the shining burn of just a moment. Yoochun has all the space of his dreams to make feelings come true – that’s enough. More than enough. That’s infinite, and it doesn’t matter if Changmin never knows about the heart-stopping moments that Yoochun’s imagination effortlessly sketches and that fit so _right_ they often feel truer than how reality turns out to be.

In front of him Changmin is back to rambling, and Yoochun only pays attention to his eyes. He wants that soft look to seep in so deep that nothing will ever hurt again. He doesn’t care that it’s not meant for him and suppresses the ache within his chest. He’s going to steal what he can’t have, that’s all. He’s going to dream what he can’t live. He found what he needed and wanted, and it doesn’t matter how he gets it as long as he _has_ it.

It takes two for love to happen. It takes one for love to exist, and Yoochun found love that exists just through him. He likes how frail that feeling is, depending on him entirely. He likes how strong it is too – he thinks that even if the whole world were to vanish in rain, his heart would still find a way back to the one person that unknowingly and greedily claimed it all. So, no… no it’s not sad.

It’s just that everything could have been so perfect.

~

 

There goes one year of their lives. A full cycle, seasons taking turns and following their eternal round as people grow and change. The lines of Changmin’s existence don’t shift much.

There is his family, now back to a new balance, looking ahead. Junsu, whose days seem to last 50 hours with all the studying, socializing, gaming, soccer, parties and more he manages to cram in them. Yoochun’s unchanging life, his silences and his jokes, his counter in the convenient store, his crappy car and insane best friend, the same messy apartment and the same easy smile on his lips.

And Jungmi of course. Her laughter, how her voice calls his name, a first trip together, the way her body fits in his arms, sleepless nights spent talking, the sweetness of her kisses, how Changmin can’t remember how his life was before her. The indescribable taste of a first “I love you”.

One year without much change, only predicable choices, but that suits Changmin just fine. It’s safe, like a warm cocoon of habits wrapping all around him and ensuring that his existence from now on will always stay this way, familiar and cozy.

 

 

And then, one day, there’s a call in the middle of the night.

 

 

“Can you come?” he hears Yoochun ask as soon as he picks up.

It’s night and it’s quiet, save for Junsu’s soft snores coming from the room next door. Changmin’s phone feels heavy in his hand. His thoughts are still blurred, tangled in the remnants of a dream, but something about the situation feels strangely familiar. Like a reverse image.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he tries to place where that déjà-vu comes from.

Yoochun doesn’t say anything for a very long time.

Changmin is well awake now. Worried, too. His eyesight adjusted to the darkness and he can make out the familiar contours of the room – his desk, the door, the distinct shape of the window revealing the eerie orange glow from the streets’ neon lights. A glance at the alarm clock tells him it’s past 2am. His heart tightens and speeds up a little. Something isn’t normal.

“It’s okay, I just wanted to hear your voice” Yoochun says at last, his voice soft and strangely muffled.

Then he hangs up and Changmin slowly lowers his phone, staring at it without really seeing anything and wondering where the emptiness inside his chest comes from.

 

 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

Yoochun vaguely registers Changmin’s indignant tone. Why didn’t he tell him… good question indeed, he muses, fiddling with the hem of an old T-shirt – his favorite, colorless, shapeless, and with a smell to it that a thousand trips to the washing machine wouldn’t manage to eradicate. Comfort clothes.

“I didn’t even tell Jaejoong” he provides, as if that would answer Changmin’s question, and ignores the protests and demands for explanations that follow.

Yoochun didn’t want Jaejoong to know, or Changmin, or anyone for that matter. It wasn’t their business. It is _no one_ ’s business if Yoochun’s life is falling apart _again_. It’s not like they’d understand anyway. Jaejoong never experienced anything like this, and Changmin… Changmin has too much willpower to relate. He just gets back on his feet and moves on, and Yoochun could never do that.

God he feels like crap.

He sniffs, grabbing a pillow near and clutching it to his chest, and tries to focus on Changmin’s voice again. He doesn’t know why he doubted the younger man would come. He was already convinced that Changmin had just ignored his call and gone back to sleep when the other arrived ten minutes ago. That makes him feel slightly bad, but nowadays their lives feel so different that sometimes he wondered if Changmin really cares. Really, really cares.

But judging by how upset Changmin sounds right now, Yoochun is a complete moron for having dared to question that.

“Just say something damnit!!”

Yoochun looks up when the volume of Changmin’s voice goes up several anxious notches. He takes notice of the young man’s bed hair and tired face. His eyes are still puffy with sleep, in spite of the glare currently aimed at Yoochun and making it plain that Changmin does indeed care and is also very, very unhappy. He put his sweater the other way round and Yoochun can see the tag sticking out from under the collar, just below Changmin’s chin. He focuses on that, the way it moves as the younger talks, a useless patch of white fabric with no meaning and nothing, nothing happened, nothing, it’s alright, it just-

“Yoochun…?!”

A hand grabs his arm. The cushion drops on the floor as Yoochun absently wipes away the tear that slipped out at the corner of his eye, wishing Changmin wouldn’t look so worried.

“I’m fine” he says.

There’s a silence. Changmin looks about to hit him, and Yoochun speaks again.

“…alright, I’m not fine at all.”

Just saying it and his throat tightens, and _shit_ , he hasn’t felt so miserable in years. The sensation of failure that crashes down next makes him want to curl up on himself and cry his heart out until it all miraculously becomes right except that’s not going to change anything. He should’ve known anyway, there were countless signs the past year and given how much his parents have been fighting, divorce was the only solution left and now it will probably be easier, right?

Right…

“I mean, I’m really, really not fine” he adds hoarsely.

“I know.”

“I hate them.”

Yoochun knows he’s reacting like a four years old.

That’s ridiculous. He’s an adult now. Still, he had promised Yoowhan that it’d be alright – just last week he was still telling him surely it would get better, and when Yoowhan gave him a look and told him to stop doing this, Yoochun only stared back and wondered what that meant.

Changmin’s hand comes on top of his – a gentle touch, warm as always – and Yoochun notices then that his own hands are shaking. He tries to stop it but it’s not working. He managed not to waver for a year, he managed to hold on and hope but it was all in vain. Now it’s breaking apart all over again, nothing makes sense anymore and he still doesn’t know where the guilt comes from.

“What do you…” he starts and swallows hard, trying to steady his voice, “what did you say you do when you’re sad, Changmin?”

“I-“

“When it a-all… when everything just becomes n- _nothing_ and you can’t-“

“Yoochun…”

Changmin’s fingers tighten around his hand and he lets the younger man pull him up to his feet. It feels a little like he’s dreaming and a little like he drank too much. Like reality isn’t as real as it should.

He follows Changmin out of the apartment, down the stairs, and in the street. Outside it’s dark and empty but the younger man is still holding his hand tightly. Yoochun can’t read the expression on his face – he isn’t trying either. There’s something so heavy on his heart that it’s making hard to breathe. His mother looked relieved, Yoowhan didn’t even cry, and in Yoochun’s mind, the image that keeps replaying is the one of his dad smiling awkwardly and _“I think we should’ve done it earlier”_. His heart twists painfully.

Yoochun hates himself for being like this.

He follows along when Changmin’s hand tugs him forward. He walks faster when Changmin’s pace quickens. He blindly holds onto his hand. He starts running when Changmin runs because that hand is all Yoochun has left right now, and he can’t let go of it. Faster… faster not to lose ground, faster not to fall behind and end up all alone, faster and faster, aimless and blind, at first only clinging onto Changmin’s fingers until it becomes hard.

Soon he’s out of breath. His lungs hurt. His legs hurt, he doesn’t know why they are running and where. He starts pulling on Changmin’s hand to make him stop but the younger man doesn’t slow down. He’s holding his hand in a vice-like grip and Yoochun has no choice but to follow, and faster, faster, he wants to stop, he can’t and something akin hopelessness is building up inside.

Street after street, places he doesn’t know, lights he doesn’t see. He hears his own labored breathing, hears the haphazard sound of his steps… running like a drunken man, without purpose and without strength. He feels ready to collapse yet Changmin mercilessly drags him forward and ignores it when Yoochun shouts for him to stop. Tired. Confused. Frustrated. So weak and he hates it, _hates_ it, he needs to stop and he’s starting to feel angry.

He can’t breathe, can’t see, still forward, still running and it’s unfair, cruel- it’s not… it just… they _promised_ and Yoochun feels played, cheated, like he’s been lied to and everyone knew but him and Yoowhan _should_ have cried. His mother should’ve collapsed and his father apologized then it wouldn’t have been just him… just Yoochun with his stupid hopes and ridiculous promises, beliefs he held onto for so long and it was all fake and lies, lies, _lies_ everywhere and before he knows it he’s running for real, his heart full and heavy, emotions raging painfully and seeking an outlet.

Faster now. Catching up, until he’s at the same level with Changmin. Faster to move ahead, to let it out whatever it takes and he doesn’t need air anymore, can’t feel his legs, his steps hammering the ground and blood pounding at his ears.  
He doesn’t notice the moment Changmin lets go of his hand but suddenly Yoochun is flying.

Hurtling down an empty street, not knowing where he’s going and why and who cares anyway… who cares as long as something cracks and that bundle of fake hopes implodes and disintegrates, it’s okay if it hurts, it doesn’t matter anymore even as tears run down his face, even as Yoochun hears sobs but this time they aren’t Yoowhan’s. Wounded. Broken. Betrayed.

He trips and stumbles forward, about to lose his balance when hands grab him from behind and the next thing he knows, Yoochun is wrapped in Changmin’s arms, his face buried against the younger man’s shoulder.

The world is spinning and he clings onto him, clutching the other’s sweater. He’s trying to catch his breath, panting harshly and feeling Changmin’s chest fall and rise fast close to him. Yoochun can’t stop the tears. His entire body is shaking from the effort and pain, releasing months of cooped-up anguish. His legs soon give in and he ends up sitting on the floor, breathless and fighting tears even as Changmin’s arms are keeping him so close like to say it’s okay.

Yoochun wants to scream and hit him for having stupid ideas like this. He’s also hoping Changmin won’t let go, ever, and as awful as he feels right now, he can’t help but relish in the closeness.

Changmin isn’t doing much. He isn’t talking, he isn’t rubbing his back or threading his fingers through his hair soothingly or any of those things Jaejoong would do. It’s just an embrace, but Yoochun closes his eyes and finds he doesn’t want anything else. Changmin’s presence – his hands, his scent, his strength, reassuring and warm – it’s the only comfort he needs right now. He did great at keeping a distance but this time… just once…

He lets out a shaky sigh, and slowly, one after the other, the tears stop flowing – leaving only a slight burn at the corner of his eyes and wet cold lines down his cheeks. Changmin shifts a little, his arms moving higher on his back but not loosening their hold.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again very softly, his voice rising clear and steady against the silence of the night.

Yoochun moves his head higher on Changmin’s shoulder and takes one of the other’s hands in his own. Changmin lets him so he intertwines their fingers tight. He forbade himself to cross that kind of line but tonight the world has once again gone wrong, and he needs something right. He needs not to feel so alone.

“It’d have make it real…” he answers, his voice barely above a whisper, and for once the truth is the simplest answer. “I didn’t want it to be real.”

“You always run away.”

Yoochun lets out a bitter laugh.

“Can’t you be nice for once?”

“We could’ve talked about it” Changmin ignores him, sounding hurt, “we could… I don’t know, we could’ve done things together, to change your mind. It’d have been better.”

“It’d have changed nothing.”

“It’d have changed a lot.”

A silence.

“…It changed a lot for me.”

Yoochun swallows around the lump in his throat. He rubs his eyes with his free hand, the other still holding onto Changmin’s, and looks around for the first time. There are only silent houses and dark windows here… closed shops, a modern building across the street. A bus stop. On their left, spotlights uselessly orchestrating an empty crossroad.

“I hope you know where we are” Yoochun says “because I’ve no idea.”

“It’s going to be fine, you know” Changmin insists stubbornly, paying no heed to that poor attempt to change the subject.

“And you’ll have to carry me back home. I can’t see any taxi near.”

“It’s going to take some time, but it’ll all be fine.”

Yoochun frowns, not exactly wanting to hear that now.

“Don’t you know how to read the mood?”

“What I know is that you’re trying to run away again.”

He pulls away to see Changmin’s expression. The younger man looks dead serious of course, and indeed that’s why Yoochun didn’t want to tell him. Changmin would have made him face it. But that’s just not who Yoochun is.

“It’s _not_ going to be fine” he says curtly. “I know it already. Spare yourself the trouble.”

“It will, eventually” Changmin retorts, unfazed. “Not now of course, but someday soon.”

“My parents got a divorce” Yoochun states bluntly “that won’t change. It’s over.”

“You still have them both.”

Changmin’s voice softened ever so slightly, ringing with rare but sincere compassion, and bearing an indistinct note of sadness that pierces right through Yoochun’s heart. He tenses.

“…you can’t compare” he argues despite himself, his voice wavering as he remembers empty pain in Changmin’s eyes and then tears – too many tears – and a pale smile passing on a tired faced, and how innocence had already withered there.

“I’m not comparing.”

Like on impulse, Changmin suddenly brings their linked hands to his lap. The move obliges Yoochun to shift closer, his arm twisted at an awkward angle, but he isn’t going to complain.

“I’m staying with you tonight” the young man announces resolutely, as if he expects him to argue “and we’re spending the week-end together. It’s been ages.”

“I thought you had some trip planned with Jungmi Saturday” Yoochun sniffs. God knows he heard him ramble about that one for hours on the phone.

“Oh…” Changmin pauses. “She’ll understand.”

Yoochun doubts it but doesn’t argue. Just thinking of having Changmin all to himself for two whole days and his heart already feels a little less heavy. He doesn’t mind if the younger man pesters him the entire time to stop wallowing in self-inflicted misery, face forward, move on, clean up your place, clean your clothes, clean yourself up while you’re at it and damn Yoochun, I can’t believe you’re 26, is that even edible and when was the last time you ate something else than instant noodles?

No, Yoochun doesn’t mind at all.

Of course he doesn’t mind either when Changmin starts rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. It’s definitely awkward but he knows Changmin isn’t one for hugs and touches. Changmin offers advices rather than comfort. He’d sooner give a dozen accurate definitions of “commiseration”, “sympathy” and the likes than actually give it a try. Changmin made both his sisters cry when he told them Santa did not exist and has yet to feel remorse about it, and Yoochun remembers he got kicked out of his high school’s theatre group because he always ended up laughing in the middle of the supposedly heart-wrenching parts.

For the first time that day, a small smile rises to his lips.

“Can you say it again?” Yoochun whispers softly, his eyes closing on their own will. The thick darkness of night is comforting now, when it felt so void just a moment before.

“Say what?”

“That it’ll be alright.”

Changmin moves closer, still not letting go of Yoochun’s hand. It’s starting to get cold, yet starting to get warm. It’s starting to feel like one of those scenes Yoochun usually dreams.

“It’ll be alright” the young man says in a very low voice, “you’ll see”.

Changmin doesn’t lie, never.

A few late tears escape and run down Yoochun’s face – a few more tears that don’t exactly hurt, disillusioned and worn. It was hard, clinging onto a breaking hope. Yoochun lets go now because he couldn’t do it earlier, he had to wait until the very last minute, until the last door closed.

Yoochun thinks you don’t decide of what happens in life.

He’s also convinced that for as long as someone will believe in something, no matter how farfetched, no matter how unlikely, there’ll be a chance for it to come true. He’d rather keep all doors open – even if beyond lays only emptiness, and even if they let darkness come in – than take the risk of closing one. He wants to be that person giving a chance to every future, and believing in what no one else would trust.

So he dreams. Foolishly, fiercely, Yoochun dreams, and learns nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoochun I'm sorry, sincerely >< (I swear it's all going to get better though). The angst ride is starting for real, please bear with me (them), I just had to.. ^^;;   
> Hope you'll like this chapter anyway, and a good week-end to everyone! :)


	7. Of graduation and dreams

The day Changmin told her about how he met Yoochun, Jungmi had found it amazing. She’d been impatient to meet that friend she’d heard so much about – in fact the only person Changmin called a “friend” for reasons she couldn’t quite place.

Her first impression had been one of mixed feelings. Yoochun had laughed but not with her, he had joked but smiled little. He had been nice yet so blatantly distant at the same time that she’d felt a little thrown-off, all the more as she soon noticed that no one but her was being given the cold shoulder. She told Changmin that afterwards, but he had just stared disbelievingly, in such a way that she convinced herself it was all in her head.

However, unconsciously, Jungmi had grown wary of the guy right from the beginning.

It soon became more than just his behavior with her. Mostly, it involved how, at 26, Yoochun looked like he happily envisioned his entire future behind the counter of a convenient store, and the only challenges he intended to face were the whims of that scrap heap he called a car. And inversely, how Changmin who never gave up, who lived both feet firmly planted on the ground and who relied on nothing but facts and hard work – how _Changmin_ admired him to no end.

It made her uneasy, that bond they shared so exclusively – what Changmin called “friendship”, and what Yoochun absolutely refused to let anyone intrude in. So nearly possessive of each other.

But Jungmi isn’t one to create unnecessary trouble. After a while, she pushed her questions aside and stopped trying to understand. Besides, Changmin always looks happier with Yoochun around, she tells herself; that’s enough for her.

So when he cancels their plans for the week-end because Yoochun’s parents just got a divorce and he needs a friend near, of course Jungmi doesn’t say anything. Same when “a week-end” becomes a month, then two, and her boyfriend barely spends time with her at all because there’s always a movie Yoochun would like or a game Yoochun needs to try. She waits and it eventually gets better, though Changmin still texts Yoochun often enough for any girl to get a tad jealous – still, Yoochun is no rival, she keeps reminding herself, and decides to think of him as a particularly invading species of mother-in-law.

Sometimes it’s complicated to deal with, but Jungmi is convinced it’s only a matter of finding a balance. And for the time being, her doubts are put to sleep.

 

~

 

The day Changmin graduates is absolutely perfect. Cold yet sunny, joyful, lively.

There’s the ceremony at his university, speeches, goodbyes and congratulations imbued with nostalgia. As the day unrolls, a few tears sometimes appear in the eyes of those who close now the story of their youth. Changmin himself is more than ready to step into the adult world, and doesn’t see anything to be sad about here.

As for Yoochun, university doesn’t exactly call back happy memories.

He’s watching from afar – Changmin’s hand tightly wrapped around Jungmi’s, the matching smiles on their faces, their respective families and friends taking pictures of them and endlessly praising how good they look together. Jungmi will graduate next year but just like Changmin (and very much unlike Yoochun) it’s obvious she won’t have any trouble adapting to a "grown-up life".

Yoochun is relieved beyond words when they leave the university grounds and the small party moves to where Changmin’s family lives. There are a few words from Changmin’s mother before the meal starts, and a few more from Changmin whose voice doesn’t waver when he evokes his father. Yoochun is watching him closely. He thinks he’s the only one who knows what lays beneath… the only one who can see the quiet evidence that the deep wound here has not healed, not yet. Never.

The young man barely sat down that Yoochun makes a move to go to his side – not fast enough. Jungmi’s father already took the seat next to Changmin and starts talking to him in a low voice. Yoochun can’t hear a word but he sees the way Changmin’s eyes shine, his face flushed with overwhelming feelings. He sees the gentle look on Jungmi’s father’s face. He sits back down, feeling unneeded and utterly dumb.

Yoochun goes back to drinking. His thoughts fatally drift to his own university days, and how suffocating they felt. Alcohol seems to help at first but ends up anchoring unwelcome memories to his mind, until he finds himself replaying them again and again. Grades, competition, rankings. Bitterness he wishes he could just erase. Worst of all, his parents’ embarrassed answers at family meetings when someone brought up The Matter and _“and Yoochun? How is he doing? It’s time for him to make up his mind and settle down, no?”_

_“And Yoochun? No girlfriend yet? I have a colleague whose daughter is just a year younger than him, you know, she’d know how to handle him.”_

_“And Yoochun? He’s still jobless? Oh of course he’s working in that store but that’s not a real job, right? What is he planning to actually do?”_

And Yoochun? Still dreaming? When will he wake up? Or does he think the world will wait for him forever?

“Yoochun?”

He blinks back tears and hastily plasters a smile on his face, looking up at Changmin.

“Congrats!” he manages, swiftly slipping back into the usual pattern. He stands up, grabbing the table for support. “I didn’t get to tell you yet. You’re in high demand today.”

Changmin puts a hand on his arm to steady him, not fooled one second about Yoochun’s state.

“You drank too much.”

“I’m celebrating.”

“That doesn’t seem to be a happy celebration.”

Yoochun makes the fake smile on his face even wider.

“Of course I’m happy” he says brightly, if not genuinely, “you’ll become a great adult Changmin-ah, part of the society and all.”

“What’s wrong Yoochun?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

The younger man frowns, about to say something when a “Changmin!” rings through the room. They turn their heads in synch and Yoochun spots Jungmi at once. Her parents are standing next to her, apparently about to leave, and she’s motioning for her boyfriend to come.

“Go” Yoochun nudges him when Changmin doesn’t move, “they’re waiting.”

Changmin hesitates. A full minute passes. On the other side of the room, Jungmi’s parents are talking with his mother. Jungmi herself is getting impatient and keeps throwing glances their way.

“Changmin” Yoochun hisses, nudging him harder, “what are you doing?”

He needs to sit. He drank too much. He doesn’t feel steady on his legs, his head is pounding and the icy weight of gloomy thoughts from earlier is still here – heavy on his heart, unbalancing his mood. He kind of wants to cry. He needs to smile but no longer knows why. He’d like to joke, scream and empty his mind, and push Changmin away, and bring him close and kiss him, and never see him again. He wants to be somewhere else, someone else… someone others would respect and admire, for once. He hates that thought, he hates who he is too, and then Changmin grabs his wrist.

Yoochun doesn’t understand what’s happening anymore. One moment he’s being dragged through the crowd, unable to grasp anything but the feel of Changmin's fingers around his wrist, and the next Jungmi’s parents are standing in front of them and staring questioningly.

Yoochun listens as Changmin introduces him as his friend. He thinks he manages a few incoherent greeting words. He thinks they answer him politely.

“I can’t believe I didn’t introduce Yoochun earlier” he hears Changmin say. “He’s done more for me than anyone else, you know.”

Yoochun’s eyes sting. He sees them nod, looking as confused as before. He spots the surprised look in Jungmi’s eyes.

And Changmin is still holding his wrist. His fingers started burning their shape into his skin, warm, tight, real, and Yoochun’s face feels hot… his entire body does- spinning… it’s spinning, the blurred sound of chatter, voices, laughter, the cold bite of past memories melting into today’s unease, and feeling inadequate, so much… always the odd one, never enough and damn, he drank too much, he shouldn’t… shouldn’t feel like crying, shouldn’t be here stupidly trying to engrave the feel of that hand on his skin, shouldn’t let his body respond so easily to the simplest touch.

He shudders, fire and ice coursing through his veins as he battles to get a grip.

It’s Changmin’s eyes – honest and uncompromising, and Yoochun has no idea what the other is doing but he knows it’s for him. He wants to intertwine their fingers. He wants to be the one to grab Changmin’s hand and lead him forward. Yoochun wouldn’t know where to lead them but he does know he wouldn't let go – never. His hands tighten into fists, holding nothing but air.

He hears Jungmi’s mother ask something about how they met, if it was at university, maybe, and what is Yoochun doing now? He wants to run, but there’s Changmin’s hand. There’s Changmin’s voice saying “you don’t meet people like Yoochun at university” – it sounds like he's joking but he isn't, Yoochun knows he isn't, and his heart swells.

They don't know.

_Yoochun_ knows… if it's Changmin… if it's _Changmin_ then no one knows better than him and certainly not _them_ , not those people who live inside squares and endlessly walk the same road their entire lives and talk and talk and talk like it's something to be proud of but Yoochun knows better and Changmin doesn't know yet but they are worth so much more… they could _be_ so much more it _hurts_ to see Changmin believing their words and going down that same worn path, and if only he dared… how bright… just how _bright_ …

Yoochun’s brain is fuzzy with alcohol and his surroundings are blurring. He doesn’t know what’s going on anymore, except the world would right itself if only he could kiss Changmin.

It’s Changmin’s eyes. It’s Changmin’s words all for him. It’s Changmin’s skin against his skin, right here, above his wrist… a touch so light yet he craves it so much that it hits his senses with incredible strength and Yoochun is drunk indeed but it’s not just alcohol, there’s something more. Something smoldering deep inside his body that ignites and takes over his entire being, a blazing surge of possessiveness and denial because he can't bear it anymore.

It's _Changmin_ – Changmin who means everything and they are ruining him, because they can't see what Yoochun only can see. They can't picture what Yoochun dreamed for them both… selfish, foolish, the impossible image of them with the world at their feet and the sky curled in the palm of Changmin's hand, where Yoochun would have put it... stupid. Stupid, but not as stupid as their narrow existences where Changmin shouldn't fit so well.

Yoochun bows mechanically when Jungmi's parents leave. He answers Jungmi's "goodbye". He hears Changmin telling him that he doesn't look well. He thinks he misplaced his heart again. He feels utterly lost. His entire body is itching and he feels nauseous.

He looks down and realizes too late that Changmin released his wrist. He needs to take his hand back, he can’t – he wants to cry and smiles.

"Why did you do that?"

Changmin doesn't answer at once, looking at him with an odd expression on his face, his hands in his pockets, his stance relaxed and confident, his gaze sharp as usual.

"I just really hate it when you start doubting of what you mean to me”, he says.

There's a silence, an embarrassed smile, then Changmin is gone.

Yoochun remains frozen on spot, his heart pounding instead of breaking as it should.

He's pathetic, he thinks bitterly, dropping on the nearest chair… pathetic, yeah, but truthfully, who would let go of dreams?

He gazes at Changmin, now a few steps away and talking to his youngest sister animatedly – the way his hands move, the lines of his back and shoulders, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Yoochun can’t look away from him. He blames the alcohol when tears rise to his eyes again, this time of sheer longing and helplessness.

 

But who would let go of a star, when it dropped in your hand? Like by mistake… like it got lost. Like a meteor escaped from dark spaces and that found shelter here, in the depths of a soul that vowed to hope through everything just to keep that light here… a soul selfish, odd, wandering, and desperate for something to hold on.

Who would let go of love?

Yoochun closed his eyes. He’s replaying again and again Changmin's last words to him, wanting to hate him for them, wishing he could undo the sound of his voice and the warmth in his gaze, and yet, he muses, and yet… who would let go of love, when they know stars fall only once?

 

 

 

“Yoochun…?”

  
Changmin leans forward and shakes the other’s shoulder gently, not really counting on a reaction.

Yoochun passed out an hour ago, collapsed on a chair, his head resting on his crossed arms on the table in front of him. His hair is partly hiding his face. It’s shorter than it once was but still as messy as ever, locks of dark hair escaping the poor excuse for a ponytail that Junsu jokingly arranged earlier, as Yoochun was already too drunk to protest.

Changmin glances in the direction of the kitchen, where his mother and sisters are busy cleaning up. He can hear the clatter of plates and the light chatter of their conversation. Everyone else left already. His gaze goes back to Yoochun. He frowns – silence… confusion. A light ache in his chest, an unclear feeling that he decided was concern. He reaches a hand out, stops, hesitates, and carefully tucks a stray strand of hair behind the other’s ear. Yoochun doesn’t even stir, sleeping soundly, his breathing even. It tingles as air softly brushes against his skin when Changmin retracts his hand.

His eyes trace the lines of Yoochun’s face, taking in details that would seem insignificant to anyone else but that clearly spell “wrong” to him. He tilts his head, chewing on his lower lip worriedly.

Something is wrong, and Changmin doubts that it has to do with the divorce – which usually makes Yoochun teary and disturbingly clingy – or yet another fight with his brother – that happened often over the past months and Yoochun invariably deals with it by whining, ranting, _and_ being disturbingly clingy – or a random bout of depression – normally doesn’t last longer than a few hours as long as there’s alcohol and Changmin doesn’t deny him the occasional hug and pats on the back.

He lets out a long silent sigh, feeling frustrated and a little hurt that Yoochun won’t tell him what’s going on this time again. He learnt over the years that for all his carefree behavior and proud claims that he loves his life as it is, Yoochun has yet to come to terms with quite a lot of past events.

It’s that damn habit of always going the other way around as soon as he spots even the shadow of an obstacle. Changmin may fail at anything empathy-related but he isn’t stupid, he understands better than Yoochun thinks.

He knows for instance that Yoochun picked studies he didn’t like just to avoid confronting his parents about it. He’s still working in that convenient store because he’s afraid to even search for another job, since he thinks no other place will want of him. He categorically refuses anything that involves competition and hence the possibility of failure. Even when Changmin tried to talk him into joining that singing contest in their usual café – and when he isn’t drunk, Yoochun sings quite well – his friend scoffed and took to ignoring him until Changmin dropped the matter.

Now however it bothers him more than usual because for some reason, Changmin feels that it involves him somehow. Yoochun doesn’t laugh around him as easily as he used to. He doesn’t talk as freely. He’s often thoughtful, quiet, distant, and no amount of teasing is enough to drag him out of that pensive state for more than a few minutes. Yoochun looks like he’s _fading_ – Changmin can’t think of another way to put it – and yes, it worries him a lot.

He reaches for him once more, barely conscious of what he’s doing. The tip of his fingers brushes lightly against Yoochun’s temple, as if blindly trying to read his thoughts.

Changmin wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. It feels like Yoochun doesn’t trust him anymore. It feels like Yoochun is drifting away from him, and while Changmin won’t show it, that _hurts_. He cares… he _cares_ , damnit, and it hurts that Yoochun himself seems to belittle what they have, just the two of them.

His hand drops to his side.

His graduation day has been happy – perfect, actually. It was just as he hoped it’d be, yet something is off. Changmin thinks of his family and Jungmi… all of them are proud of him. His father would be proud too. Except that Yoochun has been watching him all day with something much like disappointment veiling his eyes, and now Changmin isn’t so sure anymore.

He takes a step back. Something is off… something is wrong not just with Yoochun but with them. What they have is changing… imperceptibly, their bond is being distorted and stretched, and tried, and Changmin is having a hard time merely acknowledging the thought.

He clenches his fists, trying in vain to put a name on the confused heap of feelings making his heart beat wrong. There’s something he missed… there’s something that changed and while Changmin can’t grasp it, he recognizes that silent tension – the wait, doubts and unease, as if an invisible countdown activated and slowly… slowly, time is erasing something dear even as you’re holding onto it tightly, and it’s fading just before your eyes.

Changmin recognizes it – loss that hasn’t happened yet.

He gives Yoochun one last prolonged look, remembering laughter and interest in a pair of dark eyes, those ridiculous roses, a first afternoon together and the slow realization that this guy here was one of those people Changmin thought he would never find. Someone who didn’t care what was right or wrong. Someone who was nothing more and nothing less than themselves. Someone true.

Someone Changmin _wanted_ to make space for and bring into his life, for the very first time.

A friend.

 

~

 

_You remember that game? The one we used to play?_

  
_▪ A game?_

_11 and 12. One question each day._

_▪ Of course I remember. Why?_

_What do you like about me?_

_▪ Are you for real??_

_You’ve to answer_

_▪ No_

_▪ Yoochun…_

_▪ I’m not answering that. Stop ignoring my calls._

_▪ Hey, are you alright?_

_▪ I seriously don’t know why I put up with you_

_▪ Not going to care anymore_

_▪ Idiot_

_▪ Answer the damn phone!!!!_

_▪ YOOCHUN_

_▪ Seriously… :(_

_▪ Why would you ask that anyway?_

_▪ …_

_▪ I like that you don’t expect others to be who they aren’t_

_See, it wasn’t so hard :)_

_▪ EIGHT days. How can you be so damn stubborn???!_

_< 3_

_Your turn!_

_▪ Have you called your father? It’s been months now…_

_I hate you_

_▪ You love me ^^_

_Touché_

 

~

 

Yoochun loves him.

He loves him so much. He doesn’t understand. It doesn’t make sense, how _feelings_ can even hurt so badly. He tried to put a distance. He tried to pretend the situation was fine the way it was. He tried to hide the sad reality underneath makeshift illusions. He tried to run away in every way he could, but in the end he’s invariably brought back to _it_ – the cruel, simple truth of it. A wall he repeatedly crashes into.

Changmin, and how much… _how much_ he loves Changmin. How Changmin won’t love him. Not like this. And it’s breaking his heart.

 

 

Walking in the street, side by side. Yoochun is rambling – the ajummah who dotes on him at work and gives him monstrous tips, the fat orange cat that keeps trying to sneak into the convenient store, the dream he had last night about an underwater train and a purple hat. Changmin is watching him without saying anything, and suddenly it hits Yoochun how gentle the look in his eyes is. How warm. How fond.

How deeply anchored it is, what Changmin feels toward him, but it’s not what Yoochun wants… it’s not, not enough, never enough… it should be more, so much more and Yoochun wants to tell him to stop looking, stop making his heart ache, stop messing with his head, stop, stop stop stop and no… _no_ he doesn’t want Changmin to stop watching him, ever. It’s all he has. It’s all he’ll ever have and-

“Yoochun…?”

_Yoochun_ , Changmin says, and just hearing him say his name sends a pang to his heart. His voice, his expression, his eyes on him, _everything_ … everything just fills all the space around him until Yoochun finds a little of Changmin in the very air he breathes, in the first spark of consciousness that awakes him every morning, in the subtle line of hope that pulls one up and above the ground, and prompts him to smile and laugh, and go on one day more.

Yoochun doesn’t know when it happened… when Changmin claimed that spot at the center of his existence, and became the only part of his life worth trying.

He doesn’t know any more if it’s because of Changmin’s smile or because of when Changmin cried. He doesn’t know if Changmin is beautiful. He doesn’t know if Changmin is meant to shine or if he’s plain ordinary. He no longer knows what makes Changmin special, what it is exactly… what’s that damn _something_ that caught his heart and just won’t release it.  
He doesn’t want it to stop.

He dreams of him, of claiming his lips and breathing through ardent kisses that’d bring him back to life after months spent drowning. He dreams of them – Changmin’s face held between his two hands, shaky sighs, skin against skin, touching him, having him, feverishly burning the unbearable image of _her_ in his arms because she should never have been here. She doesn’t know how to love Changmin. Yoochun knows… Yoochun knows things that Changmin himself isn’t aware of. He dreams of being the one who’d tear lines apart and free him, free them both so they could _live_ at least.

Yoochun dreams and the guilt afterwards only keeps getting worse. He feels disgusting and sick, and Changmin’s innocent looks and touches leave stains like dirt on his soul.

 

 

A party with some friends, late in the evening. Changmin drank too much. He’s laughing, leaning heavily against him, his face so close to Yoochun’s face. His lips just an inch away. So comfortable around him, no personal space because they share so much anyway, it’s _normal_ to be close.

Yoochun’s heart is pounding so hard it feels about to break through his chest. Changmin’s hand gripping his shoulder, his laughter in his ears – a touch, a sound he won’t forget. He tilts his head to the side until his cheek touches Changmin’s. He closes his eyes and opens up his heart to etch it all deep in there. It has to remain. It has to be perfect… the perfection Yoochun never reached unless it was in dreams, unless those dreams were full of Changmin.

 

 

Sometimes he wakes up from his trance. Sometimes the sharp realization of what he has become cuts through him like a knife.

When that happens Yoochun lets his heart fall in pieces. He watches as it comes apart right in front of his eyes, he blames Changmin then apologizes to silence because no, not Changmin, it’s not because of Changmin. It’s just Yoochun and his stupid way of hoping, stupid way of living, a bleeding heart that will lead him nowhere.

Yoochun loves him, and sometimes it makes him cry.

Sometimes Yoochun tried to imagine his life without him. It didn’t look hollow. It didn’t look lonely. It looked like it’d be nothing, and ‘nothing’ is simply way too big for him to handle on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I promised you an angst ride didn't I? ^^;   
>  Sooo I'm purposefully taking my time decribing those scenes, first because it's supposed to last (Yoochun is going through years of unrequited love here, please sympathize and be patient lol), and secondly because those chapters indeed bridge the beginning of this story and what will come later.  
> Anyway, I'm hoping two things are clearer now: Yoochun's complete refusal to take action regarding something that he believes isn't going to happen anyway, and the oh-so-wonderful way Changmin just does not question past decisions and feelings (simply put: he's really dense, I know, I'm sorry).
> 
> Thank you for reading/commenting! <3


	8. Of crosswords and growing up

“That’s the last one” Junsu announces, unceremoniously dropping a heavy cardboard box at his feet. “But next time someone asks me to help them move places, please remind me to say no.”  
  
“It was just a dozen boxes.”  
  
“And they were like three tons each.”  
  
“Don’t exaggerate.”  
  
“Of course you wouldn’t know” Junsu scowls, sitting down on the floor and grimacing as he stretches his arms, “all you did was order me around all day.”  
  
“I carried stuff too” Changmin reminds him, rummaging inside a box.  
  
“You picked all the light ones.”  
  
“You mean the _fragile_ ones.”  
  
“My back is broken.”  
  
“Poor old thing you are.”  
  
“Brat.”  
  
“Idiot.”  
  
“Moron.”  
  
“Dimwit.”  
  
“Asshole.”  
  
“Sorry to interrupt” Jungmi’s voice rises out of nowhere and Junsu cranes his head to see Changmin’s girlfriend standing by the door, a floor cloth in her hand and an amused smile on her face, “that was very romantic but I need some help here.”  
  
“Junsu will do it.”  
  
“Changmin will do it.”  
  
“I’m busy right now.”  
  
“I’m resting right now.”  
  
They exchange a look. Changmin’s expression is innocent enough but Junsu has years of experience here. Before he knows it he’ll be on all fours scrubbing the floor of Changmin’s future bedroom in Changmin’s new place with Changmin’s girlfriend telling him to do it again “a little more on the right” and “guys really suck at this”, while Changmin himself will have run away. His only chance is to escape first.  
  
“Someone knows where Yoochun is?” he says out of the blue, jumping to his feet, “I haven’t seen him since you chased him out of the kitchen.”  
  
“He was writing obscenities on the wall” Jungmi deadpans.  
  
“You gave him paint and a brush” Changmin states lightly, “what else could he possibly have done?”  
  
“Well I don’t know… _help_ , maybe” she says stiffly, tensing. Junsu can’t blame her. Personally he found Yoochun’s scribbles hilarious but Jungmi’s parents didn’t think so when they came to give a hand earlier. It doesn’t help that Changmin considers _“but it’s Yoochun”_ a sensible explanation for all the crap the older guy does.  
  
“I’m going to see where he is” Junsu says hastily when he spots Jungmi’s defiant expression and the frown on Changmin’s face. Those two normally get along so well it’s positively disgusting, but when they do argue it’s not pretty. Usually it involves Yoochun.  
  
He’s out of the apartment before any of them can protest and quickly goes down the stairs, ignoring the elevator. The place that Changmin – or rather Jungmi’s parents – found two weeks ago is brand new, entirely renovated. Changmin’s sisters pointed out that it looked a bit impersonal, to which the young couple protested that it was _practical_ along with a dozen arguments to prove their point – from the bus line stopping down the street and going straight to Changmin’s new workplace to the nursery two blocks away for when they’d have children – neat as bullet points. The discussion ended there.  
  
That is, until Yoochun said something along the lines of “all you need now is two kids and couple slippers” and “you can keep the slippers but let me have the kids, they’ll be boring as hell if they grow up with you”. That made Changmin laugh. Jungmi not so much.  
  
  
  
Junsu speeds up when he spots Yoochun. Just as he predicted, the other escaped to the backyard behind the building. He’s sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, looking up at the white clouds above, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. There’s that odd air about him that Junsu already noticed before… like it’s not a 26 years old he has in front of him but a teen dressed up in adult clothes.  
  
Junsu comes closer, noticing the butts lining on the ground next to the older man. He counts four.  
  
“Give me one” he asks once he’s close enough, motioning toward Yoochun’s pack of cigarettes.  
  
“I thought you didn’t smoke.”  
  
“I need to wash the smell of bleach off my nose” Junsu sniffs, sitting on the ground next to the other, “feels like I dunked my head in a bucket of chlorine.”  
  
Yoochun merely smiles, and the pack of cigarettes is dropped in his outstretched hand, soon joined by a Doraemon lighter.  
“Cleaning freaks” Junsu mutters, throwing his head back and sighing in contentment after the first puff. “Should’ve escaped earlier.”  
  
Yoochun hums. Junsu glances his way curiously. He sees the older man a lot since he’s basically attached to Changmin’s hip, but he doesn’t know much about him. Yoochun is very secretive, in spite of appearances. But Junsu also happens to be quite observant.  
  
“I have to say, they didn’t lose time” he says, half on purpose. “Changmin gets a job and one month later they’re moving in together. Talk about efficient.”  
  
“They know what they want.”  
  
“You don’t sound too happy.”  
  
Yoochun shrugs and keeps resolutely staring ahead. Junsu exhales a long puff of smoke, thinking. He’s been hesitating for weeks now – one day telling himself it was none of his business, the next deciding it was all a huge waste and someone needed to do something.  
  
It was nearly funny at first… endearing even, Yoochun’s clumsy dance around Changmin. Prolonged stares. Asking for attention. Trying to make him smile and laugh. Always coming up with pretexts to touch and hold him close – never too long, but so often and sometimes so intimately that Junsu can’t blame Jungmi for instinctively acting hostile towards Changmin’s only “friend”. How the two of them wouldn’t let anyone come in between. How Changmin remained utterly clueless when frankly, Junsu can’t see how Yoochun could’ve been more obvious.  
  
It didn’t look so funny anymore when the longing in the older man’s eyes grew to guilt then heartbreak. It became ugly when Changmin himself finally noticed something was wrong, and his glances at Yoochun turned questioning and hurt. Junsu has been watching them all along and he may not understand everything, but he does know they are wasting something rare and sincere.  
  
“When are you going to tell him?”  
  
Yoochun doesn’t move. His hands don’t even twitch, his gaze still fixed ahead as if he didn’t hear.  
  
“Changmin isn’t stupid, you know” Junsu goes on, even though he’s very aware that he’s playing with what may be years’ worth of bottled up feelings. “He can tell something is changing. He’s worried about you.”  
  
“Nothing will change” Yoochun says flatly, his voice void of emotions.  
  
“You mean you’re going to give him your blessings when he gets married and all that stuff but keep acting like a wounded ex-wife” Junsu lets out, more harshly than he’d like “when in reality you _never_ had the guts to say one word to him?”  
  
This time Yoochun does react. He tenses visibly, clenching his jaw, tightening his fists. His gaze hardens but still doesn’t shift away from that distant point ahead.  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“I’m sorry to break the news to you” Junsu feigns not to hear, “but it never even crossed Changmin’s mind that you could be interested in him _that_ way, and the chances of your sweet love-affair coming true will stay zero unless you man up and spill it out to him-“  
  
“ _Shut up_! I mean that, don’t you-“  
  
“Like ‘hello, in case you haven’t noticed I fucking want you and I’m dying to rip your girlfriend’s hands off you’-“  
  
“Junsu I swear if you don’t stop-“  
  
“And ‘by the way Changmin-ah it’s not exactly called _friendship_ when a guy stares at you all day like he spent the night touching himself thinking of you and’-“  
  
Junsu wanted to trigger a reaction; he wasn’t ready for the violence with which Yoochun throws himself at him. He cries out in pain when the back of his head hits concrete, all the air leaving his lungs at once. Lights burst at the back of his mind – flashes of white, _went_ _too far_. When he opens his eyes Yoochun is straddling him, unaltered anger distorting his features; hard, chaos storming wildly in black eyes. The other is panting, too upset for words, too _hurt_ , his hands fisted in his T-shirt. Junsu tenses, readying himself for a blow.  
  
It’s the first time he sees Yoochun in that state, and Junsu isn’t a coward but he also didn’t think Yoochun had it in him to look _dangerous_.  
  
“Don’t…”  
  
The older man can’t even talk, choked by the strength of emotions he’s been repressing for so long. A sharp point of pain is pulsing at the back of Junsu’s head. Yoochun’s hands are heavily pushing down on his chest, all the weight of the other man keeping him pinned to the ground, making it hard for him to breathe.  
  
“Don’t you dare talk about _him_ like I… like it’s all…”  
  
“Like it’s all _what_?” Junsu manages, struggling to keep his voice even.  
  
Yoochun moves his hands to his forearms, his grip so tight it hurts. There isn’t any less violence in his eyes, anger bordering on fury, hatred even – a stark contrast with their usual dreamy, gentle light – but the pain beneath it all is equally obvious and Junsu knows then that he was right.  
  
“I love him, you asshole” Yoochun snarls, tightening his hold on his arms even more, “I don’t care if you think it’s disgusting but-“  
  
“I never said it was.”  
  
“I _love_ him” Yoochun says once more. As angry as he is, Junsu can hear a tremble in his voice. “And don’t you dare… don’t you _dare_ make fun of me, I _know_ it’s pathetic and-“  
  
“That’s what you think?”  
  
Junsu made his voice as soft as he could and that isn’t lost on Yoochun, albeit unconsciously. He relaxes slightly, hazy pain steadily overcoming the blazing anger filling his eyes just a moment before.  
  
“That it’s pathetic?” Junsu continues in the same quiet voice “because I don’t think it is. And I don’t think Changmin would.”  
  
“Don’t… don’t talk like you _know_ ” Yoochun forces out, too many feelings twisting his features for Junsu to name them. “Because you’ve _no idea_ how it feels.”  
  
Suddenly he releases his grip, shaky hands pulling away as he stands up unsteadily. Junsu watches him move a few steps away and sits up carefully after a while, studying Yoochun’s expression. The other’s anger already died out like it never happened. He looks dazed. Lost. Blinking at his surroundings but not really seeing anything, too caught up in his own emotions.  
  
“I’m just trying to understand” Junsu says tentatively after several minutes of silence that seem to last forever, “why didn’t you tell him anything?”  
  
Yoochun barks out a humorless laugh, his face turned away from him.  
  
“Tell him? But of course” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “wonderful idea, thanks, I’m sure he’ll be delighted and run to Jungmi to tell her the good news.”  
  
“Yoochun-“  
  
“It’s Changmin we’re talking about” Yoochun abruptly turns around to face him, his voice too sharp and an inch from breaking, “ _Changmin_. What do you think he’d say?? What d’you think he’d _do_?”  
  
He takes a sharp intake of breath, blinking fast and his voice shaking slightly.  
  
“Can you just picture the look on his face if I told him? Because _I_ can, and I’d never dare to look straight at him after that” he says, another broken laugh leaving his mouth, forced and bitter. “Well I guess that doesn’t matter because _he_ wouldn’t want me to ever look at him again.”  
  
“You really don’t give him much credit” Junsu says quietly, “Changmin is better than that.”  
  
“And what would it change anyway??” Yoochun retorts angrily, “ _nothing_. I’d lose him for good, that’s all. So keep your advice for yourself and go bother someone else.”  
  
“I don’t get it” Junsu insists, “if you love him that much, how can you do nothing?”  
  
“I just told you-“  
  
“It’s worth _trying_ at least”, Junsu cuts him, wanting to get his point across. “If he means so much to you, why don’t you even _try_?”  
  
Yoochun doesn’t answer at once, his expression hard and stubborn. _Now_ he does look like a teenager, Junsu thinks absentmindedly, and not in a good way.  
  
“Let me say it again because obviously you don’t get it” Yoochun finally says dryly “it’s _Changmin_. Maybe I haven’t known him for as long as you but it’s been clear from the beginning what kind of guy he is.”  
  
“And what kind of guy is he?” Junsu frowns, rising to his feet and wiping his palms against his jeans to get rid of the small gravels stuck on them. The back of his head is throbbing, and he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t wake up tomorrow with a massive headache.  
  
“You know very well what I mean” Yoochun answers, averting his gaze. The slight tremor is back in his voice. “Changmin knows what he wants his life to be. He has known for years. He won’t ever question it.”  
  
The older man lowers his head, quiet for a while as he kicks small stones with his foot. The soft sound of pebbles rolling on the ground is the only noise around until he talks again.  
  
“What Changmin wants…” Yoochun stops and breathes in sharply, and when he resumes talking his voice is lower than before, not betraying any emotion. “What Changmin wants is a nice job, one that doesn’t have to be exciting as long as it’s secure. A nice wife he can get along with even when he won’t love her anymore. Nice kids that he’ll accompany on sports days and that he can tell their grandfather about. A nice house, preferably with a garden, and a dog. Or a cat. Add family holidays every year in the same nice place, preferably by the sea. Here. I think you get the whole picture.”  
  
He lets out another humorless chuckle and turns his head, meeting Junsu’s eyes again.  
  
“I don’t fit there” he adds even lower, his voice raspy and slightly hoarse, “or I can only fit as the silly uncle who’ll bring crazy presents so the kids will like me even if I often argue with their mommy.”  
  
There’s another silence. Junsu remains quiet. He wants to have the end of it, as angry as it makes him to hear it.  
  
“So no” Yoochun adds in a final tone, “I won’t tell Changmin. I can’t give him what he wants. _I’m_ not what he wants. I’ll never be.”  
  
“What do you know of what he wants?” Junsu says at last, making a huge effort not to shout at the other. He thrusts his hands deep inside his pockets, clenching his fists. “How can you call yourself his friend… how can you say that you _love_ him but claim that _that_ is all there is to him?? A boring job, a garden and a fucking _dog_? Really??”  
  
“That-“  
  
“I hope you don’t think anything of what you just said” Junsu cuts him, his voice shaking with repressed anger. “I really _do_ hope so, because if it’s the case then you’re right. You have nothing to do with him.”  
  
“Junsu…”  
  
Now Junsu is the one who feels like hitting the guy standing across him, if only to erase that defeated look on his face and the lifeless light in his eyes.  
  
“He calls you his friend” he snaps, louder, close to shouting. “His _friend_ , Yoochun. I’ve known Changmin since we were only seven and I’m still an _acquaintance_ to him.”  
  
Yoochun doesn’t answer and Junsu lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head.  
  
“I don’t know what I’m trying to do” he says. “Actually I don’t know why I even give a damn since you obviously don’t.”  
  
Yoochun’s eyes narrow and he takes a few quick steps forward, closing the distance between them.  
  
“I _told_ you, you’ve no idea-“  
  
“Oh right you love him” Junsu cuts him again, eyeing him with barely hidden contempt, “excuse me I forgot for a while. You wouldn’t guess, the way you talk about him.”  
  
“ _Yes_ I love him, but-“  
  
“ _Then do something about it!!_ ” Junsu lashes out, wishing nothing more than to kick some sense in the man in front of him, “at least let him _know_! Tell him!! You’re not going to solve anything by just… just being _here_ and weeping over _nothing_!”  
  
For a split second Yoochun looks about to scream back but it’s gone the next moment. He says nothing, guarded, his expression unreadable. Junsu remains silent as well, staring at the older man defiantly until it becomes clear that he’s waiting for an answer.  
  
“I’d rather cry over nothing than lose him” Yoochun finally says, his voice barely above a whisper, “you don’t know Junsu… you’ve no idea what he means to me.”  
  
“You’re right, I don’t” Junsu answers quickly, knowing that he has only the next few words to try and convince him that if there is no _right_ way to deal with it, some ways are worse than others and the one Yoochun chose definitely belongs to that last category. “I don’t know what he means to you, but Changmin has no idea either, and I don’t think that’s fair to him.”  
  
He goes on urgently, and his tone turns pleading in spite of himself.  
  
“You said you didn’t want to see his face if you told him the truth, but _I_ don’t want to see his face the day he’ll learn about it – because he _will_ ” he adds quickly when Yoochun tries to interrupt, “believe me, he will, someday. And I don’t want to see his face when he’ll understand why you’ve kept all this from him. I don’t want to be here when he’ll realize it’s too late for him to change things.”  
  
Yoochun is quiet in front of him. His expression still betrays nothing, so Junsu can only hope that _finally_ the older man is listening to what he’s saying.  
  
“You think there isn’t even a choice for Changmin here” he adds softly, “but I believe there is. And maybe I’m wrong, but even if I am, you owe him the truth. He _deserves_ the truth.”  
  
“It won’t happen Junsu” Yoochun shakes his head, “I know it won’t. I just know it.”  
  
There are no tears in his eyes, only tiredness… the worn shadow of hopes that fought for too long without really believing in what they were fighting for. Junsu has more to say but it’s that expression that stops him, and steals the words from him. When Yoochun speaks again, his voice is oddly toneless.  
  
“I know already everything you told me. I know it’s true. But it’s not who I am.”  
  
“You could-“  
  
“I know I might regret it” Yoochun goes on with that same flat tone, “I know it’s not the right thing to do… the _brave_ thing to do. But I tried, you know. Before. I used to believe that if you tried hard enough then maybe you could change things, just… _just_ if you tried hard enough.”  
  
The older man stretches his lips in a fake, painful smile. Disillusioned and bitter.  
  
“Then I understood you get nothing by trying” he says. “It just makes it worse. It breaks everything-“  
  
“Surely-“  
  
“It _breaks_ dreams, Junsu” Yoochun ignores him. “It spoils them, and then you can only regret having tried to make them come true. So _please_ , let me keep this a dream.”  
  
His voice breaks as emotions suddenly overcome him. Dark eyes fill with sadness and hurt, but above all there’s a prayer – a plea for Junsu to understand, and for the world to let him be.  
  
“Let me keep _him_ my dream”, he nearly chokes on the words as tears gather in his eyes. “Don’t ask me to ruin that, please… _please_ don’t make me lose him.”  
  
  
~  
  
  
“ _Cor do sangue_ , with eight letters?”  
  
“No idea.”  
  
“ _Vigarista_?”  
  
“…”  
  
“This one is seven letters.”  
  
“Mmh.”  
  
“ _São e salva_ …?”  
  
“…”  
  
“Yoochun?”  
  
Yoochun doesn’t answer, absently doodling in a corner of a music sheet – a remnant of Jaejoong’s firm but short-lived resolve to become a worldwide famous composer, two weeks ago. He gave up after three intense days of vain pursuit of inspiration. Jaejoong thinks talent is like a Rottweiler; if it doesn’t come to you willingly and waggling its tail when you first call out its name, then it is most likely to leave you with a nasty bite at the second try.  
  
It’s a good thing that Yoochun isn’t a Rottweiler, Jaejoong muses. He won’t bite no matter how many times Jaejoong calls him. Hopefully.  
  
“Yoochun?!!” he tries again, and this time throws a pen at him for a better effect.  
  
“What?” Yoochun startles, looking up at last.  
  
“ _São e salva_.”  
  
“Why are we doing crosswords in Spanish?”  
  
“It’s Portuguese.”  
  
Yoochun shrugs, sulkily rubbing his cheek where the pen left a neat black line. Jaejoong sighs and puts the magazine aside – he got it from the hot guy who lives next door and keeps trying to talk to him though Jaejoong doesn’t understand a thing. And given his total lack of reaction to Jaejoong’s answers, said guy obviously doesn’t speak one word of Korean, else he’d either have kissed him senseless or run away to another continent already.  
  
“I’ll call him Miguel.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“My neighbor.”  
  
“That’s his name?”  
  
“No idea, but it’s sexy.”  
  
Yoochun stares, then shrugs again. So apparently he doesn’t intend to care. That doesn’t sit well with Jaejoong because Yoochun is supposedly the only person who cares. He looks around searching for something else to throw at him and spots the plastic ice cube tray he used last month to try and grow strawberries. There’s still dried compost inside. At least he thinks it’s dried compost.  
  
“Don’t even think about it.”  
  
Jaejoong scowls and looks up, pouting at Yoochun’s stern face.  
  
“Then listen to me!”  
  
“You’re talking in Spanish.”  
  
“It’s Portuguese!”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Jaejoong clicks his tongue, not liking the other’s flat tone. Yoochun doesn’t seem to notice, already back to doodling on his paper. He’s frowning. Pensive. Unshaven. He smells like cigarettes. In Jaejoong’s book that’s a greyish aura, and Yoochun is _not_ grey – deep blue, moving shades of purple and indigo… even a nice, bright turquoise on good days, but definitely _not_ grey.  
  
“You’re grey.”  
  
“What?” Yoochun asks without looking at him, sounding only remotely interested.  
  
“You’re grey” Jaejoong repeats haughtily. Then he scowls again and sniffs much less elegantly, already knowing the answer to every “why” he could ask. It doesn’t take a genius to guess anyway.  
  
“That doesn’t mean anything” Yoochun mutters, looking up. “If you-“  
  
“It’s not depression right?”  
  
Yoochun’s eyes narrow. “Jae-“  
  
“Because I can go throttle that bastard right now and the problem will be solved” he offers helpfully.  
  
“That has nothing to do with Changmin” Yoochun snaps, paying full attention to him at last.  
  
“So it _is_ Changmin” Jaejoong stretches a bit, relieved to be finally getting somewhere but not so happy to have his doubts confirmed. “ _Again_.”  
  
Yoochun looks about to answer but he ends up shaking his head in surrender. His expression fell as soon as Changmin was mentioned. He suddenly looks very tired, and Jaejoong feels seriously worried for the first time in a long while.  
  
“You need to get away from him” he leans forward, staring at Yoochun anxiously.  
  
“I can’t…”  
  
Yoochun falls silent, gaze fixed on the wall on his left, a sad expression on his face. He looks different from the Yoochun that Jaejoong knows. He looks _adult_ , and the realization comes as a shock. Yoochun is _not_ supposed to be like this and that makes Jaejoong angry, his instinctive resentment toward Changmin instantly revived. But blunting his anger, there is sadness too. Nostalgia. He doesn’t know. Something along the lines of _‘so the time has come’_ – bittersweet and forlorn.  
  
“You need to get away” Jaejoong says again, his tone much different from before, though Yoochun doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
“I can’t-“  
  
“Quit” Jaejoong continues, unperturbed, looking down at the scribbles on his Portuguese crosswords with a frown. It’s hard to say those words. _Important_ words. He can’t look at Yoochun. “Your job, just quit. Your parents. Your brother. Changmin. Everything.”  
  
“What are you-“  
  
“All those things aren’t you” Jaejoong goes on, taking a pen on the floor next to him. He starts scribbling on the back of his left hand, like it will be enough to cover the sound of the words. He doesn’t want to hear his voice say them. “And me as well, you should leave that.”  
  
“What the hell are you saying??”  
  
Yoochun sounds angry. Jaejoong doesn’t like it. It itches like needles poking holes into his chest. He bends forward, trying to ignore the knot in his throat. He’s drawing lines on the back of his hand – like prison bars, like electrical wires where birds love perching, like staffs on a music sheet.  
  
“The things that aren’t you” he says “you are trapped inside them. You won’t be _you_ until you’re without them.”  
  
This time Yoochun doesn’t say anything. Jaejoong has never struggled this much before to say something before and the words come out all wrong, but there’s no other way.  
  
“No one needs you” he goes on, blinking fast. The lines in front of his eyes are blurring. “Your brother doesn’t need you. Changmin doesn’t need you-“  
  
“Jae-“  
  
“ _I_ don’t need you.”  
  
He looks up and sees shock and hurt on Yoochun’s face.  
  
“The only person who needs you is yourself” Jaejoong whispers, managing a weak smile, “so go find that, because no one will do it for you.”  
  
There’s a long silence. That awkward, fake smile refuses to leave Jaejoong’s face so he just leaves it here. It doesn’t matter.  
  
“Jaejoong…”  
  
“ _Cor do sangue_.”  
  
“…”  
  
“It’s eight letters.”  
  
A lopsided smile slowly rises to Yoochun’s lips, and Jaejoong’s heart unclenches. It’s not grey anymore – a shimmering light blue, a bit too pale to be hopeful, a bit too dull to be truly heartfelt, but that’s a start. Yoochun heard him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand here to some more angst but hopefully Jaejoong is bringing some much needed sunshine~ No YooMin interaction here and no YooMin POV either (SORRY), but I'm hoping having their respective best friends' (acquaintances?) views is a breath of fresh air in an overall deadlocked situation. 
> 
> Thank you reading~ <3


	9. Of fleeing and flying

It’s a familiar scene. They are both lying on Yoochun’s bed, furiously jabbing their game controllers while their characters try to rip each other’s heads off on the TV screen. The video game is not a fancy one; Yoochun got it years ago for his birthday, but it’s always that one they end up playing when they don’t feel like doing anything in particular.  
  
He supposes Changmin should be home to help Jungmi put their new place in order. He supposed _he_ should be searching for a present for Yoowhan’s birthday next week. He supposes what they should be doing doesn’t matter – they just felt the need to be together today, and _that_ is actually important.  
  
Yoochun groans when Changmin’s character kicks his with a particularly vicious move that dents his health points badly. That one came close. Any other day Changmin would have teased and bragged but as it is he doesn’t even smile and stays focused on the game, a grim look on his face. Yoochun didn’t need that to understand he was in a bad mood. He could tell the moment the other arrived.  
  
It takes one minute more for Changmin to finish him off. Yoochun surrenders without putting much of a fight. He was never a competitor anyway, he muses, watching his character stumble like a drunk and collapse while Changmin’s shows off ridiculous bodybuilder’s muscles to boast its victory. Rather pathetic, truthfully. Yoochun never understood why his parents bought him that game. Maybe they were hoping it’d kick some pride and will to win in him, he thinks dryly, reaching for the remote control.  
  
“So. Who is it that you want to kill?” he asks aloud, turning off the TV. “Not me, I hope?”  
  
“Unless you try to feed me seeds and soybean milk.”  
  
“Jungmi?”  
  
“That diet of hers is getting on my nerves” Changmin mutters darkly, vengefully grabbing a pack of crisps near and swallowing a handful of it. “I don’t get why she wants to bring me into this.”  
  
“Maybe she thinks you’re fat.”  
  
“Maybe I think you’re dumb.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I find your double chin very sexy.”  
  
Changmin throws him a murderous glare.  
  
“I’m okay with the love handles too” Yoochun goes on nonchalantly, “but I’m sorry to say your ass is getting bigger than Junsu’s and now _that_ ’s something to worry about.”  
  
This time Changmin can’t repress a laugh.  
  
“Idiot” he says, a smile tugging at his lips.  
  
Yoochun grins at him and flops on his back on the bed, stretching his arms above his head. Changmin does the same next to him and rolls on his stomach. They both fall quiet – the comfortable kind of quiet.  
  
Yoochun once read that silence was the way to tell mere acquaintances and friends apart… if it was awkward, and you soon felt the need to say something. Or on the contrary, if it felt natural and easy. It didn’t say anything about what silence was for lovers, but Yoochun could easily provide an answer for that one. He turns his head to the right.  
  
Changmin is still lying on his stomach, his face turned toward Yoochun but not looking at him. He is absently tugging at the bed duvet, thoughtful, his eyes fixed on his own hand as he plays with the thick fabric. He still looks distant but is more relaxed now. Yoochun’s gaze travels from his eyes to his lips, to his neck, to his shoulder and his hand, like a ghostly caress. It stops here, fixed on Changmin’s fingers. He can’t call them ‘slender’ or ‘strong’, it’s a little of both. Yoochun knows Changmin’s grip, he held his hand before. He made sure to engrave it in his memories too.  
  
When he looks at Changmin’s face again, the young man closed his eyes.  
  
It becomes one of those rare, precious moments when Yoochun has him all to himself. When it’s easy to forget what they really are and discard facts, ignore the truth, and play out dreams instead.  
  
They say silence is awkward for acquaintances and comfortable for friends. Yoochun would add that silence is thick once love comes into the equation. Palpable. Tense. _Alive_.  
  
It’s only when it’s silent that his heart can take up all the space, not confined anymore in the narrow cage of his chest but extending tendrils of feelings wherever it can reach. Daring yet shy… painfully aware that this is not real, but craving ‘it’ so badly – _‘it’_ , an illusion, a mirage, a lie, _anything_ as long there is something to feel and cherish – craving existence, for once not being denied and repressed like a shameful secret.  
  
Yoochun watches him. He thinks _‘mine’_ , and lets his heart lead the way.  
  
Now every second is shaking with untold emotions. Quiet wishes linger heavily in the air, yearning, reaching out, sending across wave after wave of longing, promises, and questions. So close, he thinks, gazing at Changmin’s face eagerly. So _damn_ close. He can count his eyelashes from here. Study every small imperfection, fantasize the warmth of his skin, contemplate where he’d want his fingers to lay first and where he’d place a light kiss. The mole under his left eye. The corner of his lips.  
  
Silence is so dense already that it’d carry the words burning within his heart effortlessly… just air gliding through air, just a few muffled sounds sending across a small world of immense feelings.  
  
Yoochun doesn’t know what changed.  
  
He doesn’t _why_ it changed… he supposes it has to do with what Jaejoong told him. Or Junsu. Or both. Maybe it was just bound to happen. Maybe he loves him too much or maybe it’s his heart that’s too weak. Either way he feels _stretched_.  
  
Now he only needs to reach a hand out. Touch his cheek. Look into his eyes. Say the words.  
  
Tear silence, free his heart, and lose him.  
  
“What are you thinking about?”  
  
Changmin is looking at him. Yoochun stares back unblinkingly and not for the first time, he wonders just how much of himself he lost into those eyes. He figures it’s too late. He doesn’t want it back anyway. Changmin can keep everything, if it’s all that Yoochun will ever be able to give him.  
  
“You remember when I bought you roses?” he asks, the smile on Changmin’s face that day still vivid in his memories. Their very first meeting.  
  
“Of course” Changmin smiles a little, “why?”  
  
_Because I think that’s when I fell in love with you._  
  
“Because if you get some for Jungmi, she might remember that she’s supposed to look at flowers. Not eat them.”  
  
Changmin laughs, bright and loud, and Yoochun watches him. He watches, he watches… he _watches_ , and desperately, he wonders why Changmin can’t _see_. It’s everywhere in his heart, in his mind, in his eyes, he knows it is… _I love you_ , everything is screaming, raw, hopeless, struggling against secrets and fears… _I love you_ , and Yoochun isn’t sure anymore what hurts most. That he isn’t brave enough to say the words, or that Changmin doesn’t care enough to read them through silences.  
  
  
  
  
One week later the same scene reenacts.  
  
They are at Yoochun’s place. They played video games in spite of everything they both should be doing. Today however, Changmin is happy. Beyond happy. His eyes are sparkling. He’s speaking fast, animatedly, random at times and _that_ is very unlike him. He didn’t even complain when he lost all three rounds earlier, which is even more telling. Obviously his mind is elsewhere. Yoochun dreads to learn _where_ exactly.  
  
“I need to tell you something” Changmin says out of the blue as soon as they stop the game.  
  
Yoochun didn’t need that to understand something had happened. The lump in his throat refuses to go away, like the hand clawing at his heart, or the ominous feeling he’s been trying to shake off since the young man showed up at his door with a blissful grin on his face, looking happier than Yoochun had ever seen him.  
  
“Maybe it’s weird but I wanted to tell you first” Changmin goes on as he leans forward, his voice impatient and loud like he doesn’t quite control it, brown eyes luminous yet too small for the feelings brimming inside. Happiness radiates off him, irrepressible and true, and Yoochun wonders how he even managed to keep it to himself for the past hour. He looks like his heart is about to burst out of his chest, literally.  
  
Yoochun tries to brace himself. He tries.  
  
“I proposed to Jungmi” Changmin announces brightly, “we are getting married!”  
  
He fails.  
  
Everything goes silent in a split second. His heart sinks and feelings fall away from him, beaten and useless. It’s cotton in his ears and ice freezing his hands. Yoochun isn’t sure he’s breathing right – it’s tight and narrow, and dark, his surroundings closing around him. His chest constricts painfully around a shattered heart, like trying to squeeze out the last tears he hasn’t shed yet. He should’ve known.  
  
He should’ve known.  
  
He blinks, and in that other world Yoochun doesn’t want to be part of, Changmin is still talking. Clueless. Happy. Excited. In love, and breaking his heart further with every smile, with every word he says. Yoochun thought it _hurt_ before, but this is ten times worse. He watches and says nothing as Changmin himself rips his last dream to shreds. His words, and the way his eyes shine. The hope in his voice. The joy on his face.  
  
In the end it’s Changmin’s smile… it has always been Changmin’s smile, Yoochun now realizes.  
  
He feels his heart quiver, love and heartbreak embracing and curling on themselves, crying. He lost. He’s known from the start he would lose. But he thought Changmin’s smile was worth it… he just… _just_ wanted to come close, Yoochun just wanted a glimpse, nothing more, he didn’t ask for much. He _never_ asked for much. He never asked for _anything_. He remembers Junsu’s words and for the first time Yoochun wonders if he was wrong and he should’ve at least tried. Too late, of course.  
  
Way too late.  
  
He lost.  
  
He _lost_ , Yoochun tells himself again and again, the thought echoing emptily through his mind, and now it’s over. There is nothing left for him to protect. It was fake lights. It was a fake star, a cold selfish glow. It was meant to die. He looks at Changmin now. He looks at the truth, and the truth is that Yoochun doesn’t want him anymore. Not like this. He needed the dream, not the reality.  
  
“Of course we just started talking about it but we thought we could marry next year, in June, it is-“  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Changmin stops talking. Yoochun can’t read the look on his face. He can’t tell what he’s feeling himself. Everything he held on all that time has collapsed soundlessly around him, and the dazzling lights he draped around Changmin have gone out. Grey and dull. Just a shade. It’s sad, too sad for tears. He feels halfway between numb and broken. He doesn’t know who he is anymore.  
  
“I love you” he says again, because it’s true.  
  
It’s true of course. It’s the only thing that’s true about them both as far as he’s concerned. Yoochun doesn’t care about friendship. It’s love that he wants. He thinks Junsu was right about the look on Changmin’s face when he’d finally realize what it was all about, that friendship he was so proud of… the bond that made them special, complete trust, knowing all about each other – _lies_ , all of it. Changmin actually never knew. And Yoochun is sorry. Truly. Too late.  
  
“Yoochun…”  
  
“I can’t do this anymore.”  
  
He stands up from the bed.  
  
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”  
  
He’s walking to the door and Changmin doesn’t move, stunned, until suddenly he seems to realize what’s happening. Yoochun sees him tense. He sees him pale. Shock. Denial. Pain. He never hurt Changmin before, never. He’s sorry. He should’ve known. He grabs the handle and pushes the door open.  
  
“Yoochun!”  
  
He leaves just as the young man rises from the bed. He starts running as soon as he’s out. He doesn’t turn back when Changmin calls his name. He doesn’t stop when it becomes hard to breathe and his legs threaten to give in. He runs like the younger man once taught him, deaf and blind to the world, his pain chasing after him. But this time he doesn’t where he’s running to.  
  
The dreams have gone, all of them.  
  
He has only shards of them left now, memories sharp as glass and piercing feelings no one ever embraced. Only useless remnants of a useless hope, crooked and lifeless. Yoochun thought they were beautiful. He still believes they are… he still wishes to grab them with both hands and hold on, but he never thought they would come to hurt so much that he’d have no choice but to let go.  
  
He lets go now. They fall away from him, tainted with blood and tears. They go back to the stars, cold and unreachable, and leave nothing behind.  
  
  
  
  
Somehow he ends up at Jaejoong’s. Yoochun barely needs to do any explaining – “Changmin”, “wedding”, “told him” and his swollen eyes easily sum up it all. He feels empty. He doesn’t want a hug, kind words, anything. He wants it to stop hurting. He watches as Jaejoong fusses about, saying this and that and “told you so”, “bastard”, “idiot”, and “blow your nose you’re gross”.  
  
Yoochun says nothing, mechanically blinking tears away as they rise. He watches without understanding what’s going on as Jaejoong throws toothpaste, lemon cakes, instant coffee and more in a counterfeit Michael Kors handbag, before the other grabs his arm and drags him out of the apartment.  
  
“Where are we going?” Yoochun asks once they are outside, wiping his nose on his sleeve as his friend waves frantically for a taxi to stop.  
  
“Your beloved is harassing me” Jaejoong answers briskly, brandishing his phone right under Yoochun’s nose. He barely has the time to glimpse a dozen missed calls from Changmin and at least as many unread texts before the taxi pulls over and the other ushers him inside.  
  
“He’s sure you’re with me. He’ll pop in here any second” Jaejoong mutters after he gave the driver an address, “…demanding explanations like the nice guy he is, but maybe you feel alright after all, and we can go back, wait for him, and have a nice chat about it together around a cup of tea?”  
  
Yoochun just stares blankly.  
  
“That’s what I thought.”  
  
Jaejoong’s phone rings again. Yoochun sees him tense and grab it, and for a split second he thinks the other will throw it out the car window.  
  
“STOP CALLING ME!” Jaejoong shrieks in the phone instead. The taxi swerves and Yoochun makes a quick prayer that the driver doesn’t have a heart condition. “I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS!! TRY LOST AND FOUND! OR THE FAIRIES! BUT NO _ME_!!”  
  
He hangs up. They have all but three seconds of peace till the phone rings again. Yoochun sees Jaejoong’s eye twitch and he hastily takes the device from the other’s hands and switches it off, muttering an apology.  
  
“Where are we going?” he asks again, searching his pockets in the hope of miraculously finding a handkerchief somewhere. He keeps sniffing. He feels as gross as Jaejoong’s disgusted looks tell him.  
  
“My parents” the other answers, sighing as he leans back on his seat. “Jinhee is abroad for an exchange program and Seonhee is staying at her university campus. You can use one of their rooms.”  
  
There’s a long silence.  
  
“He’ll come to the convenient store tomorrow” Yoochun blurts out, feeling every bit of the pathetic coward he is.  
  
“Don’t go to work. Call and tell them you’re sick.”  
  
“He’ll come again the next day.”  
  
“Tell them you’re still sick.”  
  
“I can’t be sick forever.”  
  
“Tell them you died.”  
  
“Very funny.”  
  
“Tell them you quit.”  
  
Yoochun doesn’t answer. Jaejoong gives him a prolonged look, his eyes softening after a while.  
  
“Honestly Yoochun, what do you have to lose now?”  
  
The answer is _‘nothing’_ , of course. Nothing. Nothing will ever be the same. No more video games and lazing in his bedroom. No more meetings at the coffee shop. No more hot chocolates, text messages and easy embraces. No more long talks at night about the past, about Yoochun’s future and Changmin’s father. No more confidences. No more secrets. No more looking at him from afar, and making believe dreams come true. It’s lost… Changmin’s hands, Changmin’s eyes, Changmin’s smile… he can never pretend they are his again. All lost. Forever.  
  
Yoochun waits for tears to rise to his eyes again but this time they remain dry. The pain in his heart is still here but it changed – it’s over. A closed door. A dream gone.  
  
It’s over.  
  
He squeezes Jaejoong’s hand and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he promises himself, it’s the real world he’ll finally be facing.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Two weeks later, Yoochun is in Incheon airport, hovering alone around departure gate 112.  
  
His shirt is still damp with Jaejoong’s tears, and he hopes his friend won’t throw himself under a bus like he once swore he would if Yoochun ever dared to leave him. He’d like to be convinced it was just a joke, but you never quite know with Jaejoong. It’s safer not to assume things, especially when he’s upset. And Jaejoong _was_ very upset, judging by how he was wailing in his arms like a boat horn. Yoochun never had so many people stare at him unkindly before.  
  
He starts when a voice announces the start of boarding for flight KA121 to Sydney. His heart jumps inside his chest and he hurriedly gets in line, his palms a bit sweaty, and Yoochun realizes as he shows his boarding pass that this is the closest he’s felt to excitement in months. Maybe years.  
  
  
  
  
The evening he arrived at Jaejoong’s parents’, Yoochun called his manager at the convenient store and announced that he was resigning. The guy wasn’t pleased. He said they wouldn’t take him back if he changed his mind, to which Yoochun answered he had no intention to.  
  
He went to his place the next day, when he knew Changmin would be at work. There was a note on the door, with a familiar handwriting. Yoochun pretended not to see it. He quickly packed everything he wanted to keep, set aside what could be sold, threw away the rest, and left. He found a buyer for Veruca three days later, and let go of his car for a ridiculously cheap price. He strongly suspects they will take it to pieces and sell whatever useable spare parts they’ll find. It makes him feel oddly guilty.  
  
During the last days Yoochun gathered the money he had managed to save. He met Yoowhan and called his parents. He watched dumb TV shows and stuffed his face with junk food. Two days ago he received his visa for Australia, and booked a one-way plane ticket for Sydney.  
  
Leaving was Jaejoong’s idea. Australia was Yooseon’s.  
  
“The visa will only allow you to do small work” Jaejoong’s sister had warned, “nothing fancy. Picking fruits or building fences, most likely”.  
  
Yoochun had shrugged. It’s not like he intends to come back a millionaire. He just wants an ocean between the ‘before’ and ‘after’. Literally.  
  
Now here he is, in the plane. No going back.  
  
Until the very last minute, Yoochun expected something to happen. They would snatch his visa away saying it’s no good. He’d trip in the escalators, break both legs and trade Australia for a merry trip to the hospital. Someone would call out his name “Park Yoochun, Park Yoochun from flight KA121 to Sydney” and he’d be dragged back to the main hall, where they’d tell him that a certain Shim Changmin had started a hunger strike in the President’s office and a certain Kim Jaejoong had tried a suicide attack on a bus, and both were blaming him.  
  
Nothing happened though, and now Yoochun is on his own, and doing his best not to make it obvious he’s never been on a plane before. He refrains from playing with the speakers and the booklets in front of him. He purposefully ignores the paper bag, praying air sickness will spare him. But when the stewardess starts showing everything he must do not to die and he anxiously peeks above the seat before him to see her better, his neighbor throws him an amused look and Yoochun knows he’s been found out.  
  
Just then the plane starts moving and he throws dignity away, gluing his face to the window pane.  
  
Finally it starts. The roar of engines. Gaining speed.  
  
Yoochun’s heartbeat follows along, faster, louder, fuller. He’s enjoying every sensation, letting every second fill him and trying hard not to grin as gravity pushes him back in his seat, because _here_ , it’s happening… his heart is swelling, getting bigger, lighter, a crushing weight being lifted from his chest, and a huge smile breaks on his face the moment they leave the ground. He wants to laugh. He’s light, young, crazy, _happy_ , all of it and more, and it’s only once they are high in the sky and above the clouds that he can put a name on it.  
  
‘Free’ he thinks euphorically, his face illuminated by a smile.  
  
Changmin would say he’s running away again but no, not this time… this time Yoochun is _flying_ , and the sky around him stretches without limits, giving him the horizon he never realized he had been searching for.  
  
  
  
  
Of course the beginning isn’t easy – the _very_ beginning. As in, the first ten minutes.  
  
Yoochun undergoes a small panic attack the moment he steps inside Sydney airport, when he realizes he has absolutely no idea what to do now.  
  
‘Australia’ in itself was such a huge step that he only focused on getting there, and he didn’t stop to think of what would happen next. The basics: where to sleep, where to eat, what to do tomorrow and the day after that with barely enough money to last a week or so. Not to mention his English skills, that can be summed up as vocabulary cobbled together for the sake of the rare foreigners who incidentally landed in his convenient store.  
  
He’s already wondering how much begging it’d take for Yoowhan to buy him a return ticket when he remembers the papers Jaejoong’s sister slid inside his rucksack before he left the house.  
  
“Try not to die there” Yooseon had said, glancing at her brooding brother, “or he will disavow me and claim I’m adopted till even our parents start doubting I’m theirs.”  
  
“He wouldn’t.”  
  
“He had the entire school believe Jinhee was a boy when she forgot to pick him up after class once.”  
  
“Who’d believe that??”  
  
“Her boyfriend broke up with her.”  
  
Yoochun had promised to take care.  
  
Now looking through the papers she gave him, he feels very much like kissing Yooseon. She listed addresses and phone numbers for him, of the friends she made when she stayed in Australia two years ago. Maps of bus and train lines. Cheap restaurants and hotels. Places where to search for jobs and find them. And a letter of four pages covered with purple ink and Jaejoong’s messy handwriting.  
  
By the time he’s done reading that one, Yoochun wants nothing more than sit down on the floor and weep. He’s about to do just that when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around, sniffing, and recognizes his neighbor on the plane. The guy’s grin is suspiciously bright and Yoochun goes for a wary ‘what do you want with me?’ kind of smile. They didn’t speak a word to each other during the trip. The guy was asleep the moment the plane took off; he spent nine of the flight’s ten hours drooling all over his small pillow, and the remaining time messing with the seat-back screen settings.  
  
That same guy is talking now. Fast, and not in Korean, much to Yoochun’s dismay.  
  
“I no English” he interrupts, waving Yooseon’s papers in the other’s face to make him shut up.  
  
The guy stares and shakes his head.  
  
“There” he says again in Korean this time. He adds some gibberish that Yoochun can’t grasp at all till he notices that the other is pointing at an address on one of the papers.  
  
“Rowe Street?”  
  
He isn’t sure he said that right but the guy nods.  
  
“There. You go there?” he asks in Korean again.  
  
His pronunciation is as lame as Yoochun’s English one but that’s a start, and Yoochun knows luck when he sees it.  
  
“Yes” he says in English, nodding frantically without even glancing at the address on the paper, “yes, yes, yes!”  
  
“I go there!” the guy exclaims brightly, before he reverts back to English blabbering.  
  
Yoochun waits till he’s done. The last words sound like a question so he says “yes yes yes” again. It must have been the right thing to do because the guy makes a sign like “follow me” and starts leading him out of the airport, to what Yoochun hopes is a place with food, a bed, and no Australian madmen searching for Korean lost boys to murder.  
  
  
  
  
Much, much later, when they’d have both improved a lot as far as communication goes, Yoochun will ask Yunho why he even bothered to help him that day.  
  
“You were cute” the older man answers.  
  
“I wasn’t.”  
  
“And lost.”  
  
_“I wasn’t.”_  
  
“Like a koala.”  
  
By then Yoochun knows that comparing people to kangaroos, koalas and quokkas is not an Australian obsession, but Yunho’s favorite way to entertain himself at the expense of wide-eyed foreigners. Most of them feel flattered, but Yoochun’s first encounter with an actual koala taught him better.  
  
“I don’t pee on people.”  
  
“You’re just as grumpy.”  
  
“If you knew I’d try to bite your ear off the first chance I’d get, why did you help me?”  
  
Yunho smiles. It’s not the enigmatic, somewhat seductive smirk Yoochun sometimes glimpsed on that face, nor the wide clueless grin he keeps for strangers. There’s fondness in the way his eyes soften, the corners of his lips upturning just enough for sincere affection to be conveyed – Yunho isn’t one for enthusiast displays of emotions. He goes for gentle smiles, when no one is looking. Small gestures and words that’d go unnoticed if someone else hadn’t already taught Yoochun how to read those.  
  
“Do I need a reason to want to help people?” he asks.  
  
Where Changmin is all about answers, for him, Yunho only has questions. Questions that Yoochun can’t reply to. He only shrugs – call it fate, or chance, you don’t decide of the important things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOO. Here it is. I don't think I'm sorry for this one lol, I guess such a turn of events was quite predictable at this point. I'm just going to say "HI YUNHO GORGEOUS", I want JJ as my bff, and oh, if you find that Changmin's wedding news comes kinda fast, just know that I agree with you (great I'm being cryptic now on top of excruciatingly slow).  
> Quick reminder that Veruca is Yoochun's car, and in case you are having a bad day, here is a quokka for you: http://www.animalfactguide.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/quokka1.jpg
> 
> For information, we're about halfway through the story word count wise, extra long chapter coming next week~
> 
> Thank you always for reading/commenting~


	10. Of black holes and a kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: PG-13 for this chapter, 2U in this chapter.

_219 Rowe St., Eastwood, Sydney._  
  
That’s the address Yoochun writes on the back of his first letter to Jaejoong, and every letter after that. He’d barely stepped inside that Yoochun knew he wanted to stay, possibly forever.  
  
_219 Rowe St., Eastwood_ – a spacious flat on the second floor, above a Vietnamese restaurant and across a sun-drenched soccer field. It smells of fried food and dried grass. The toilets leak and in some parts paint is peeling off the ceiling and covers the linoleum floor like dandruff. Postcards and photographs left by all the people who once passed by cover the walls. When it rains, the sound of water drumming on the tin roof is so loud you’ve to shout to be heard. When it gets really hot, they all cram inside Yunho’s bedroom – the smallest but the only one with a fan – and sleep piled up on the floor among empty cans and accounting workbooks.  
  
The people living here take after the place itself. They make a joyous bunch – raucous, young, full of life and dreams, and without a care in the world. Or so it seems.  
  
The day Yoochun arrives, there are five of them. None of them speaks Korean, with the exception of a Chinese girl whose pronunciation is even worse than Yunho’s, and Yoochun soon does the same as everyone else and goes with sign language.  
  
The moment he arrives, he’s pulled inside the room where a Canadian and a Tunisian guys are already staying. They clear the area around a worn sofa-bed, and the faded blue couch with its brown stains and squeaking springs becomes Yoochun’s bed for the next few months. That evening they feed him leftovers from the Vietnamese restaurant and sit in a circle on the floor, firing questions in three different languages. Yoochun answers with a lot of smiles and ‘I no English’. He tries to tell them about Jaejoong’s sister, but they all shake their heads. He isn’t any luckier with Yunho the next morning.  
  
“Yooseon” Yoochun says, then in English, “my friend, she here. Before.”  
  
Yunho shrugs and makes a gesture like to say ‘who cares?’  
  
Two days later when Yoochun wakes up, he finds the Canadian guy is gone. The others learn the news without so much as batting an eyelid. One week later, it’s the Tunisian’s turn to leave. Yoochun enjoys two nights of peaceful sleep without anyone snoring in his ears, until a pair of German brothers arrive with their girlfriends. It becomes eight of them. Then five, three, seven, less or more. Passing through his days like migratory birds.  
  
  
  
_They are like me_ , he tells Jaejoong in his second letter. _I thought it was just me. I thought I was the only one feeling the way I did, but they are just like me._  
  
Just as lost. Just as free.  
  
They are running too, flying, soaring as high as possible to distance themselves from the ground – running farther not to stop, flying faster not to fall. They share the same sickness as him. Their heart lack the same piece, they bear with that same hollow place that craves excitement, motion, life, and _light_ … a black hole of feelings and senses, always needing more because everything you feed it seems to fade away in boredom and frustration. The great void that has them chasing after impossibilities, and makes reality look like it will never be enough.  
  
Black holes, not stars, Yoochun reflects one night, sprawled on the burnt grass of the soccer field with the rest of his current flat mates. He’s sore and exhausted after a day spent roaming the National Park looking for damaged fences to fix – Yooseon wasn’t lying – but it’s the good sort of tiredness. The sky above is pitch dark, and Yoochun thinks they are the same. They don’t shine, the likes of him. They don’t know how, so they steal lights instead. And real lights are so hard to find… so so hard to keep alive and glowing, and they burn too. They burn bad.  
  
There’s Mark from South Africa, who ran away from home, he says. He says his parents don’t know where he is now. He says he doesn’t want to ever see them again. There is Yukie who had a good job in Tokyo, a loving family and a perfect boyfriend, and who went to the airport instead of the city hall the day she was supposed to marry him. There is Ruben from the Netherlands and Angela from Italia, who met in Casablanca two years ago and never left each other since.  
  
There is Liam from Ireland with his twice broken nose, and Megan from Perth who holds her alcohol better than any of the guys here. And Juan from Peru who took a liking to Yoochun, and keeps dragging him along for nights out.  
  
And then there is Yunho.  
  
  
  
_It’s hard to describe him,_ he writes Jaejoong in the sixth letter, alone behind the reception desk of a crappy motel, waiting for hypothetical customers while batting flies away. _Sometimes he’s like an older brother, and it feels like I’ve known him all my life. And the next moment he’s like a complete stranger. Like, I can’t help but trust him, but I wonder if I should. I never met someone like him before._  
  
The last line is a little bit of a lie, but Jaejoong doesn’t need to know that.  
  
He doesn’t need to know about how Yunho stares sometimes, without reason, focused, intent – unsettling. Or that Yunho is so damn tall, that he is a morning person, hates soccer, would damn himself for a bit of chocolate and loves peppermint sweets. Yunho’s parents manage several restaurants in Eastwood and he intends to take over later, so he got into a business school and is studying hard – he knows what he wants his future to be. He thinks life is a serious matter. He hates cockroaches, and he can do cartwheels.  
  
Jaejoong surely doesn’t need to know how warm Yunho’s hand is that time when Yoochun trips and would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for the older man’s sure grip. Yoochun feigned to ignore the lingering look in the other’s eyes afterwards, but his stomach tightened and he felt a pull down there that he cannot pretend never happened.  
  
But beside all the above, truthfully, there is very little Yoochun knows about him.  
  
He knows Yunho’s parents own the Vietnamese restaurant and the flat above it, which is supposed to be for their son’s use only and not some youth hostel for budding adventurers and patented losers. But Yunho takes in guests like one would collect stray cats, and the only rule is that no one brings in people before introducing them to him first.  
  
He often disappears for several days, off to another part of the city or so Yoochun supposes. He supposes a lot. He supposes Yunho grew up in Australia and his parents never managed to teach their son proper Korean. He supposes the day they met, Yunho was coming back from a family trip of sorts. He tried to ask, using jumbled hand gestures, English and Korean. The other only smiled.  
  
It’s like that game 12 played with 11 years ago, except that this time, Yoochun is allowed to ask as many questions as he wants but he’s not getting any answer, and the truth still eludes him.  
  
  
  
  
And then it happens.  
  
Past midnight. Yoochun is coming back from work – a two weeks contract as a janitor in a glittering skyscraper housing a bank, an insurance company and an accounting firm. It’s still hot outside in spite of the late hour and the few people he crosses paths with are walking fast, rushing to the comfort of their air-conditioned penthouses. For them all it’s a day just like any other, but for Yoochun today tastes different.  
  
Today there’s a spring in his step that wasn’t here before. Today his heart is light… so incredibly _light_ inside his chest and he has a song playing in his head and on his lips, a bright tune telling of happiness and carefree times, and with every step he takes the melody seems to spread further until he wants to dance, move, run – restless energy piling up inside, warm sunshine and laughter and hope. He doesn’t know where it comes from. He doesn’t care.  
  
Yoochun woke up this morning with that smile on his lips.  
  
Today is nothing special. His problems are still here – his empty wallet, downward course and broken heart – but today Yoochun walks without them. The heavy bundle he made himself shoulder every day because he believed it was part of him… that burden of tightly knotted fears and forced smiles, he rose this morning and left it behind. Still here, still heavy, but not on his shoulders, bending his future and crushing his hopes. Today his problems are only problems, and life is something more.  
  
Today nothing matters… nothing but the present moment, and how Yoochun _belongs_.  
  
His smile widens.  
  
He starts walking faster. His heart is racing inside his chest and soars higher with every beat. He likes the scenery around, likes the velvet shelter of night, likes the quiet breeze caressing his face and the city lights dotting darkness like fireflies. He likes the here and the now – the past is past, tomorrow doesn’t matter, and the joy filling his entire being slowly drifts from exhilarating to overwhelming.  
  
It’s so much now… too much, and Yoochun stops. He looks up at the night sky, and thinks that maybe there _is_ someone up there who finally cared to put his star back on track. Hope. Gratitude.  
  
Radiance.  
  
A blast of raw emotions, newborn feelings flickering ahead of him wildly as he tries to keep up and embrace them, to hold onto every spark and cherish everything this hour is… this hour when for the very first time, the acute consciousness of his own existence makes every fiber of his soul sing and shudder, and Yoochun is _glad_ to be here.  
  
He’s glad to exist. He’s thankful to life like he didn’t know one could be, aware of the world around him and how _he_ can grasp it, he can… he _will_ , he only needs to reach a hand out and take it.  
  
“ _I’m here!”_ he wants to cry out as he smiles up at the night sky – _“look! I’m alive and I’m here!”_ He breathes in deeply. He closes his eyes. It’s bright and warm beyond words inside, and he thinks that’s what shining feels like.  
  
_I’m happy now. Really. –_ he writes in his next letter to Jaejoong. There’s no need to say more.  
  
He found what he came here for.  
  
  
~  
  
  
“You want?”  
  
Yoochun looks up from his magazine and sees two scoops of vanilla ice cream topped by a pair of chocolate eyes smiling down at him. He grins, taking the cone from Yunho’s hand.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Yunho nods and sits down on the sand, stretching his legs in front of him and leaning back on his forearms. Yoochun manages to ignore the expanse of tanned skin on display next to him for about ten seconds before he gives in and sneaks a glance. Yunho notices, of course. He grins, a flash of white teeth and sunshine. His hair is dripping wet after he went for a dive in the sea and Yoochun can see goose bumps covering his body. He knows he’s staring openly. The warm feeling is back deep in his belly, the pull of desire familiar now. They’ve been dancing that dance for days and each step saw them more daring.  
  
Yoochun averts his eyes after a while, already knowing it won’t be enough to put Yunho off. Quite the contrary. He suspects the other is extremely amused by his attempts to act oblivious, and Yunho isn’t one to let challenges pass by undefeated.  
  
“No sun?”  
  
Here he goes. Yoochun puts his magazine aside with a sigh. Though to be honest, he doesn’t mind.  
  
“What?”  
  
Yunho motions toward the sunlit part of the beach in front of them then the parasol above. One cursory glance around tells Yoochun that beside a loud trio of gossiping old ladies, he’s the only one who bothered with an umbrella.  
  
“No sun?” Yunho asks again, in that broken Korean he insists on using and that Yoochun can’t help but find cute. He smiles and shakes his head.  
  
“Not if I don’t want to turn into a lobster” Yoochun answers in Korean as well.  
  
“Lobster?” Yunho tilts his head, frowning. Yoochun racks his brain searching for the English word, to no avail. His head still hurts from yesterday’s drinking. They are in for another guessing game.  
  
“Shrimp?” he asks hopefully, still in Korean.  
  
Yunho raises his eyebrows and shrugs, shaking his head. Then he grabs his ice cream.  
  
“Hey that’s mine!”  
  
“Mine too.”  
  
Yunho takes a bit and smiles again. It looks innocent enough but Yoochun knows better. He’s well acquainted with the mischievous light in the older man’s eyes by now, playful and seductive. He also knows the shadow beneath, a darker look that he stopped struggling to ignore and often dreams of at night. His skin tingles where Yunho’s hand touched his when he took the ice cream. The older man’s gaze doesn’t falter, heavy and intent, and Yoochun could swear it grows less subtle by the second. Yunho may fail at Korean but he’s much gifted when it comes to non-verbal communication.  
  
Yoochun’s throat feels sandpaper dry as he struggles for something intelligent to say. Yunho’s eyes are dangerous, he decides, so he lowers his gaze – a mistake. Red red lips, full and tempting. Dangerous too. Though the pounding of Yoochun’s heart sure speaks more of the thrill of excitement than fear.  
  
“Crab?” he blurts out, tearing his gaze from the other’s mouth.  
  
Yunho looks disoriented for a split second till he remembers the other guessing game they are playing. The official, safe one.  
  
“Crab” he repeats in Korean, nodding to show he understood.  
  
“Bigger?” Yoochun adds tentatively. He snatches his ice cream back, needing something to keep his hands busy and fight the dryness in his mouth, and tries hard to get his focus back on lobsters.  
  
“Big crab?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Big crab no sun?”  
  
Oh damn.  
  
“No” Yoochun points to himself. “Here, lobster. Red.”  
  
Yunho grins.  
  
“No.”  
  
“What ‘no’?”  
  
Another mistake.  
  
Yunho stretches an arm out and touches his shoulder where Yoochun was pointing to just a moment before. His fingers linger – a light caress, barely there, teasing. The older man never looks away from him. He smiles that wicked smile again and Yoochun’s stomach twists. The ice cream is melting in his hand and some of it is running down his thumb but he barely feels it.  
  
“White” Yunho enounces slowly, the tip of his fingers grazing against the pale skin of his shoulder once more. Then he withdraws his hand and Yoochun has about two seconds to gather his wits before those same fingers touch his lips. His eyes widen.  
  
“Red” Yunho says. His voice dropped a few notches. He knows damn well what he is doing and much to Yoochun’s annoyance, it’s working. He feels blood running to his face and down there, and shifts uncomfortably. Yunho’s smile changed – ‘I want you’ it says now, plain and clear – confidence bordering arrogance. Yoochun mentally scolds himself. He knows that game too. He used to play it well. He remembers the rules.  
  
“Red” he acquiesces, his lips moving against Yunho’s fingers. He wants to kiss them.  
  
He wants to kiss him.  
  
He raises his free hand instead and wraps his fingers around the other’s wrist. He takes his time, staring into Yunho’s eyes challengingly. _I can do this too_ , he wants him to know, _it’s a game the two of us can play_.  
  
Yunho says something in English that Yoochun doesn’t understand.  
  
“I’ve no idea what you’re saying” he says in Korean, his fingers grazing the inside of Yunho’s hand as he pulls it away from his lips.  
  
Yunho speaks again more slowly, the same sentence. A question. Yoochun can only make out a couple words. He thinks he heard ‘boyfriend’.  
  
“Like you cared whether I had someone or not yesterday” he mutters, still in Korean and mostly to himself. Yunho frowns, confused, and asks his question a third time. Yoochun smiles.  
  
“No” he says, closing his eyes as he leans forward, “no boyfriend”.  
  
  
  
  
_He kissed me yesterday. Yunho. Everyone went out for a drink but at some point it was just him and me, alone. I think the others left on purpose, or he planned it with them. Sneaky bastard. Well he’s nice, not a bastard. Not really. Just a little, sometimes._  
  
_I drank too much. Jae, I’m really getting too old for this. But he was drunk too. At least he’s saying he was. He acted like he didn’t remember crap this morning but he was staring. At my lips, I mean._  
  
_I shouldn’t write to you when I’ve a hangover._  
  
_But I wanted to tell you, I liked it. The kiss._  
  
_He told me he was free this afternoon, he knows it’s my day off. He asked if I wanted to go to the beach with him. Just me. I said yes._  
  
  
  
  
Yunho’s mouth is hot, eager, dominant. It wants, it takes. Yoochun too takes as much as he gives, his hands roaming all over the older man’s body. It’s dark in the room but he can picture it well enough – sun-kissed skin, lean yet strong, powerful. He breathes in sharply when Yunho’s mouth moves to his neck, kissing and nipping a path from his jaw to his collarbone.  
  
Yoochun retaliates by thrusting his hips against the other’s body, rewarded by a groan and a bite at the junction between his neck and his shoulder. This one will leave a mark and that thought sends another rush of need through his body.  
  
He turns his head and finds the older man’s lips again, claiming another kiss. Yunho lets him take the lead as he walks them toward the bed, his hands working on the buttons of Yoochun’s shirt. They tumble together on top of the covers, their legs tangling at once as they both seek friction, senses clouded by desire and craving more of each other.  
  
It’s been so damn long and Yoochun shudders at the first touch of fingers against the sensitive skin of his stomach. He whimpers when Yunho’s hand moves lower and kisses him again to wipe the smug smile off the older man’s face.  
  
“Long time?” Yunho teases in Korean when they break off the kiss, breathless, staring down at him with dark eyes that belie the mocking grin on his face. Looking half a boy and half a devil.  
  
“Shut up” Yoochun mutters. He grabs his shoulders and pulls him down, wrapping his legs around the older man’s waist and leaving here his last coherent thought.  
  
He doesn’t care anymore about solving the enigma that is Yunho. He _wants_ him, it’s as simple as that. Simple is good.  
  
Yoochun needs simple, and Yunho feels good – just Yunho, his body, his hands, his mouth. He feels right. He touches him like Yoochun wants to be touched, and holds him like he needs to be held. Again only the here and now matters.  
  
Here they are raw and true. Now it’s burning they need.  
  
  
  
~  
  
  
Yoochun wakes up the next morning bathed in sunlight, sheets tangled in his legs and Yunho’s arm thrown over his side. No surprise here. He could’ve sworn the older man was the clingy type.  
  
He pushes the arm away and rolls on his back, blinking at the ceiling, feeling oddly content.  
  
Yoochun turns his head after a while and sees that the older man is awake, and looking at him. His eyes are crinkled with sleep, there are pillow marks over his right cheek and his hair is a mess but he manages to look gorgeous anyway, which is extremely unfair in Yoochun’s opinion. It’s the smile, he decides. That damn sweet smile that drips honey and warmth, and the lips shaping it – promises of velvet and fire. Yoochun wants to kiss him again but there’s a knot in his stomach that warns him not to.  
  
He props himself up on his elbows and throws a cursory glance around to avoid focusing on Yunho. It’s where the older man stays when he isn’t at Rowe Street, he realizes quickly. The place is much smaller but also much more comfy and personal than the huge flat Yoochun already knows. Yunho’s belongings are here. A pair of underwater fins, a worn skateboard, piles of book, photographs. A poster on the wall featuring a rock band that must date back from Yunho’s teenage years.  
  
He startles when the older man wraps his arms around him from behind and pulls him closer, resting his chin on Yoochun’s shoulder.  
  
“Yunho…”  
  
“Mmmh?”  
  
Yoochun turns his head to look at him. His breathe catches when he sees the look on Yunho’s face. A real smile now. Not a façade – warm, caring and fond altogether, and suddenly Yoochun feels horribly guilty.  
  
“No…” he starts, a helpless note in his voice, “Yunho I’m sorry but I-“  
  
“I listen.”  
  
Yunho closes his eyes, his head still on his shoulder, his expression peaceful.  
  
For long minutes Yoochun doesn’t know what to say. He can distantly hear cars passing in the street, else it’s completely silent. The sun is warming his skin and with the heat of Yunho’s body so close it could feel too hot, but inside Yoochun is cold. His hands are still cold too. Always. They have been cold ever since he left Seoul.  
  
He leans back hesitantly after a while and Yunho doesn’t move, merely keeping his arms around him. It’s good, Yoochun thinks. He doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want to feel pushed into a corner either. God knows he’s had enough of that.  
  
“There is someone…” Yoochun starts hesitantly, looking down at his hands as he fiddles with the bed sheets. He isn’t sure he wants to… isn’t sure _how_ to say it, but the words come out surprisingly easily.  
  
“Someone I love.”  
  
Because in the end Changmin is much simpler than Yunho… the simplest, most important feeling of them all. The realization makes him want to laugh, or cry, or both. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t.  
  
“Boyfriend?”  
  
Yesterday Yoochun said ‘no’, but now he doesn’t know.  
  
It’s stupid, really – it’s ‘no’ of course. Nothing ever happened. Nothing. Yoochun made it that way, but he can’t say it aloud… he can’t spell it plainly, and still, it hurts.  
  
“It took me ages to realize I loved him” he says instead, his throat tightening, “and years again to tell him so. Then I left.”  
  
He ends up telling Yunho everything, but in Korean, aware that the older man won’t grasp a tenth of it which is for the best.  
The words pour out effortlessly, a continuous flow. Yoochun has gone over that story again and again and he knows it by heart. He mapped every turn, every halt. He knows exactly what changed and when, where crossroads were and the choices he made, all along knowing that what awaited ahead would remain a dead end no matter how many detours he made.  
  
He tells Yunho how it started – 11 and 12, questions and answers. He tells him about how life was back then, when Yoochun didn’t fit anywhere but with him… with _him_ , he says, unable to even voice Changmin’s name – with _him_ it was alright. Because _he_ didn’t quite fit either. He tells Yunho what an odd pair they made, the two of them. So odd yet perfect in their own way. Complete when together.  
  
He tells him he used to be okay with just that – knowing that he’d always be special, that he couldn’t be replaced by _his_ side, so it didn’t matter if they stayed like this and never shared more.  
  
“I’ve been very selfish” he says quietly after a pause, “I wanted him all to myself. I wanted him to always need me. I made him believe I was everything he thought I was, and nothing more than that.”  
  
He made what they had into a lie, Yoochun knows, and he left because he couldn’t bear to see the end of that lie… he was afraid that nothing would remain after this. Changmin wants the truth and Changmin needs him: Yoochun still has no idea which matters most to him.  
  
Changmin wants so many things that only Yoochun knows about.  
  
Changmin also needs so much more than Yoochun can give him.  
  
“But he was selfish too” he adds softly, remembering the expectant light in clear brown eyes, questions that had to be answered, the warmth of the hand that tirelessly tried to tug him forward. “He kept… he kept wanting me to be _more_ , you know. I was only trying to be myself and he always made me feel like it wasn’t enough.”  
  
Times when Changmin went too far and Yoochun didn’t stop him. When Changmin asked too much and Yoochun didn’t say ‘no’. When Changmin kept wanting more and Yoochun kept giving, because…  
  
Because.  
  
So many _‘because’_ that Changmin never cared to notice.  
  
“In the end he’s still just a selfish brat” Yoochun’s voice wavers even as he smiles, a warm feeling steadily enveloping his heart that has nothing to do with the sun outside or Yunho’s arms around him. “He goes around saying whatever he wants and telling people how they should be. He’s convinced he’s always right. If you disagree he’ll harass you with logic and reasons and stuff until you surrender, then he looks at you like he just saved your soul from eternal damnation and I _really_ can’t stand that.”  
  
He stops, looking down at his hands. There’s that one image flooding his memories, and his throat tightens.  
  
“But he smiles too” Yoochun says, his voice lowering to a whisper, “he smiles at me when I end up pretending he convinced me. He’s not fooled, I know he’s not, but he smiles all the same.”  
  
He closes his eyes. He needs to remember now. He still doesn’t want to forget.  
  
“I love that about him” he adds quietly, and hearing it is oddly soothing. “I love that so much.”  
  
_I miss it so badly._  
  
  
  
Yoochun ends up speaking for fifteen minutes more before he realizes that Yunho fell back asleep. By that time there’s something suspiciously wet and warm on his shoulder. It’s too late when Yoochun spots the trail of drool falling from the older man’s mouth, and he shoves him away at once.  
  
“That’s _gross_!!”  
  
Yunho falls back on the bed with a _thump_. He doesn’t wake up and stretches in his sleep, kicking him in the process while Yoochun frantically wipes his shoulder with the bed sheet.  
  
 “Freak” he mutters under his breath, “freak freak freak _freak_ why are all my friends insane??”  
  
All he gets in answer is a snore and Yoochun slaps Yunho’s shoulder hard. He might as well have slapped a log. He hits him again anyway and manages to hurt his hand this time, rewarded by the slightest frown on the older man’s face and another loud snore.  
  
Yoochun glowers on his own for a while, nursing his hand, and gets up at last after another half-hearted whack at Yunho’s arm. There’s something he needs to know.  
  
  
  
He goes exploring and comes back in the bedroom ten minutes later with a cup of instant coffee and a laptop that he found buried under a heap of unwashed clothes. Yunho’s place can rival with Yoochun’s flat back in Seoul as far as cleanness goes. That’s at least one trait the older man doesn’t share with Changmin, Yoochun muses as he sits crossed-legged on the floor and switches on the laptop. That, and well… the fact that Yunho just slept with him.  
  
He wonders how far Changmin has dared reading into his words.  
  
_I love you_ , Yoochun told him. _I want you_ , he could’ve added, _I hate her_. _I want you. I want you._  
  
The coffee tastes bitter on his tongue when he takes a first sip. Yoochun normally adds milk but he couldn’t find any. He cradles the mug in his hands, gazing at the laptop screen absentmindedly.  
  
He thinks he has changed… no, he knows he has. That was the whole point of Australia. He didn’t come here for broken fences, crabby koalas and hot tall guys with gorgeous smiles and tanned skin. Though he can’t deny that Yunho was part of the change – or maybe the conclusion of it.  
  
The point is, Yoochun thinks again as if needing to convince himself… _the point is_ , he has changed. And there’s no reason to keep running away now.  
  
He looks up. Late morning sunlight is pouring from the window. The smell of coffee is strong and familiar and on the wall facing him, Yunho pasted a photograph of the Sydney Opera House at night. Yoochun’s thoughts drift back to that day when he told Changmin, for maybe the hundredth or the thousandth time – it makes no matter. It’s done. Yoochun told him and he left. It could have been worse, he could have smiled and carried on pretending everything was fine. But dropping the news and dumping Changmin right after arguably wasn’t the ideal way to go about it.  
  
He takes another sip of coffee. His head hurts a little, else everything is fine and he knows he’ll never be as ready as he is now to face it – face the truth. It’s easy to avoid it, Yoochun thought… that’s what he’s done all his life. Taking turns and going backwards whenever reality stood in the way. But in the end it’s a pointless escape.  
  
In the end Changmin was right, and the thought makes him want to scowl and smile at the same time.  
  
It’s better to face it. It’s time.  
  
Yoochun puts his mug on the floor next to the laptop and opens a web page. His fingers hover above the keyboard hesitantly. He hasn’t checked his mail inbox since he last saw Changmin, wary of what must be waiting for him there now that it’s the only way the young man has left to contact him. He supposes that the truth he hopes he’s ready to face would be somewhere in there. Or maybe not. Maybe Changmin never even wrote but that in itself would give him his answer.  
  
Apprehension surfaces again for the first time in weeks, a tight coil at the pit of his stomach. Yoochun hastily drinks a gulp of coffee. It’s bitter and too hot, and it burns his tongue. He tries not to think too much as he types in his ID and password, but his heart is hammering inside his chest and he’s so nervous he nearly closes his eyes when the inbox page finally loads.  
  
The next thing he knows, there are tears in his eyes.  
  
Yoochun blinks faster and exhales a long, shaky breath. He’s such an idiot. A selfish one at that, and he rubs his face harshly, not knowing what to feel or think anymore.  
  
Changmin wrote, he did.  
  
Every day.  
  
Every _damn_ single day, Yoochun leans forward to check, a little lightheaded. He clicks to go onto the next page, backtracking, and then the page before that, and another.  
  
Every day for a little less than six months, without fault.  
  
Yoochun leans back, his hands falling uselessly to his sides as he stares at the screen blankly. Part of him feels guilty; the rest is a mixture of relief, happiness, and more guilt for being happy to start with. He wonders if that’s how Changmin decided to get back at him – by making him feel guilty. And why not? He _is_ a selfish brat. A selfish, stubborn, candid brat. The kind you want to indulge.  
  
“I’ve changed” Yoochun warns his computer sternly once the initial shock has passed, “I’ve _changed_ , you idiot. You’re not going to play around with me so easily now.”  
  
Only silence answers him. Yoochun rubs his face once more. When he peeks from between his fingers, dozens of unread _[No Subject]_ mails are still lining up accusingly in front of him.  
  
“What the hell were you thinking?” Yoochun curses under his breath, “seriously, get a life. You’ve been a pain in the ass for years now can’t you let me have some fun on my own?”  
  
The only answer he gets is a snore. Yoochun glances at Yunho on the bed behind him.  
  
“That’s not cheating” he says to the laptop defensively, “and why would you care anyway? Why did you write? You’re supposed to be _busy_. You’ve a wedding to prepare and you still haven’t chosen names for the kids later. You know, the kids you’re going to scold and pester instead of _me_ , because I’ve _changed_ and I don’t need you to be on my back now so you’d better find someone else to bully.”  
  
Then there’s just silence and only one thing to do. Yoochun sighs. He threads a hand through his hair nervously, and clicks on a mail at random.  
  
  
  
  
_September, 15_  
  
_It was my day off today. We went to choose the new wallpaper for the bedroom, you remember I told you Jungmi didn’t like the blue one. And I wanted to have a look at mattresses, but you’ve no idea how expensive it is!! The salesman tried to get us to buy a “memory foam” one, whatever it is. Foam. Why not sponge or cotton candy. I told him that. Some other stuff too. Worst part of it is, Jungmi was interested in foam, and she nagged all the way back home because I didn’t have to be so rude._  
  
_Anyway, we chose the wallpaper. The one I liked was grey and she loved a pink one (“Sunset Fog”, they called it… how ridiculous is that?) so in the end we got a beige one. It’s quite nice, it looks a bit like vanilla. I told her that and she warned me not to lick the walls._  
  
_There’s a new barman at the coffee shop. He keeps boasting he worked in bars in Las Vegas, but in the end all he’s ever asked here is beers and soju bottles. I think it’s a waste, don’t you? I nearly asked him for a cocktail, but in the end I got the same as usual. He smiled when he gave me my hot chocolate. He found it was funny. That made me angry. I don’t know if I’ll go again._  
  
  
  
  
_October, 2_  
  
_I know I said I wouldn’t do it again, but I’m writing you an email at work. I know what you’re thinking. “Come on Changmin everyone does it, no need to be all bothered, loosen up a bit and maybe they’ll stop calling you whatever names they call you…”. Well, it bothers me. And what they call me is none of your business. You’d have a good laugh if I told you but I’m saving the joke for Junsu, since_ he _didn’t run away to the other side of the world._  
  
_He’s doing well with his soccer team, you know. Said he was contacted for tryouts with some local team in 2 weeks. I told him he was worth more than “some local team” and he said I should mind my own business. I told him my own business was going fantastic. We finally agreed on a date for the wedding. Jungmi wrote a list of everything we must get done by then, with deadlines and all. It’s like a battle plan._  
  
_I know I said I’d regret it when I wrote it the first time, and I did, but you’re an asshole, and I miss you. I really miss you._  
  
  
  
  
_October, 24_  
  
_You made friends in Australia, right? Jaejoong told me you did. He wouldn’t tell me more even when I said I’d buy him a lava lamp. He keeps going about lava lamps recently. I told him those were useless, outdated and only for nerds in middle school (I had two), but he won’t hear a word of it._  
  
_Anyway. The lava lamp didn’t sway him and he started rambling in Portuguese when I asked about those friends you made._  
_Go out with them today. Tell them to make you smile. Don’t scowl now, I know you are, and don’t pretend that everything is fine. You’re going to say that you’re not a teenager anymore, and that it’d be stupid to go into mourning on October 24 now that you parents got a divorce for good. You’re going to say lots of bullshit but I’m not going to believe a word of it. So go find those damn friends of yours and they’d better be good enough for you, and get your mood out of the gutter._  
  
_I’m going now. I promised Jaejoong I’d help him choose his lava lamp. He can have a dozen if he wants. I would have hugged him when he told me you had made friends after pretending not to know who you were for 2 months, but he was eating Nutella with his fingers and there was more on his face than in the jar._  
  
  
  
  
_November, 21_  
  
_I hate you._  
  
  
  
  
Yoochun stops. He’s been picking mails at random for about two hours now, some of them only a few words short and others so long he’s tempted to think that Changmin did it just to annoy him. The young man knows how bad Yoochun is at reading anything longer than the cooking instructions on the packaging of instant noodles.  
  
At some point he heard Yunho rise behind him. He heard the sound of running water in the bathroom, the radio, the microwave, the front door opening and closing. The sun is high in the sky now and it must be way past noon. The remaining coffee in his mug is cold. Yoochun is not hungry. His heart is in throat – it’s been in a lot of different places in the past two hours, some of them quite uncomfortable but mostly places he had missed sorely – however right now his heart is in his throat.  
  
_I hate you._  
  
He reads those three words again and again, dreading that this is where the truth stands now. But there are many emails left and Yoochun gingerly clicks on the next one, holding his breath.  
  
  
  
  
_November, 22_  
  
_It’s not true. I don’t hate you._  
  
_I hate that you left. I hate how you left. I hate that you ended up running away from_ me _, of all people, and I hate that I could not prevent it. You’re a coward, I hope you know that. Else I’m telling you. A fucking coward. I feel so stupid. You were supposed to come to me when something was wrong. You were supposed to tell me and let me try to make it better. I fuck it up with everyone but I thought I had at least managed to do it right with you._  
  
_You’ve no idea how stupid I feel._  
  
_You’d better be doing fine._  
  
  
  
  
_December, 3_  
  
_There was a documentary on TV today about the sharks in Australia. How the bold ones sometimes grab a leg and swim away with it, but it’s fine because it doesn’t happen often and the poor things are being hunted all over the world, it’s only fair they get a shot at revenge once in a while._  
  
_Have you met sharks Yoochun?_  
  
_I searched it up for you. If a friendly shark comes close, don’t panic, swim away quickly and leave the water as fast as you can. If the shark looks like it’s hungry, swim faster. If the bastard makes a move at you, hit it on the tip of the nose with a pole._  
  
_Next time you go swimming Yoochun, bring a pole with you._  
  
  
  
  
_December, 18_  
  
_I’m going to quit and change jobs. I haven’t told Jungmi yet, only Junsu. I don’t need to tell you why all over again. I’ve ranted enough about it already. Still, I wish you’d be here to tell me what you think._  
  
_The coffee shop closed. In the end I never went there again after that thing with the barman, but that was only a pretext. It was just lonely to go there._  
  
_I never asked. Why did you buy roses that day?_  
  
  
  
  
_January, 3_  
  
_I got kicked out of a store by the security people. In front of everyone. Luckily Jaejoong was swearing so much I think no one paid attention to me. Why did you ever make him your best friend??_  
  
_Usually I watch him closely just in case but I was busy checking suits for the wedding, and when I looked up he was arguing with a saleswoman. Telling her you’re supposed to order clothes according to the colors, not the size, and to get rid of the black ones. Next thing I knew he was shouting and she was shouting back. Something about cashmere. I don’t know who started it, but by the time I got there they were pulling at each other’s hair and shouting insults._  
  
_I tried to pull them apart but she kicked me then they threw us out of the store. I’ve a bruise on my leg where she kicked me and another on the arm where security grabbed me. Jaejoong lost a fistful of hair, else we are good._  
  
_I told Jungmi and she started screaming at me, so I left. She’s still upset that I refused her father’s offer to help me find another job. She’s also upset because I said I didn’t want to take salsa classes with her. And she hasn’t forgiven me yet for the foam bed. She’s upset at me in general, but we are going steady with the wedding battle plan. You’ve no idea how relieved I’ll be when we are finally done with that._  
  
_I’m staying at Jaejoong’s tonight. I got us pizza and beers. I bought him a puzzle too, so that he can order the pieces by color or size or whatever makes him happy. He’s been cranky of late. I think he misses you too._  
  
  
  
  
“Boyfriend?”  
  
Yoochun tears his gaze from the laptop screen and looks on his left. Yunho crouched beside him. He’s holding out a bucket of ice cream and a spoon, and Yoochun smiles and takes both gratefully. The sun is going down outside. It’s not dark yet but evening will come soon enough, and he doesn’t remember eating anything today.  
  
“Boyfriend?”  
  
“Is that the only Korean word you remember when you’re with me?”  
  
“Boyfriend” Yunho insists, pointing at what Yoochun is now reading. Something about the dreadful task that’s choosing a color for a wedding suit when your mother says “black”, your future wife says “grey”, your acquaintance of 20 years says “go naked for all I care” and your only friend’s best friend says “take something that suits your aura”.  Apparently Changmin’s aura is orange.  
  
“Yeah” Yoochun tells Yunho as he takes a spoonful of ice cream, “I mean, not my boyfriend but-“  
  
“Good!”  
  
“ _Not_ my boyfriend” Yoochun insists, but seeing the happy grin on the other’s face he knows it’s too late already.  
  
“Peace?” Yunho asks while motioning toward the screen and making a heart with his hands.  
  
“Whatever you want to think…” Yoochun mutters, swallowing another spoonful. His stomach growls. Maybe feeding it with ice cream only isn’t such a good idea, but he doesn’t feel like getting up to find something to eat. There are still many emails to read. There are at least…  
  
Yoochun frowns when he realizes he reached the last page. He didn’t read everything, only randomly opened around half of the emails, but he thought there was more left. His gaze goes up to check when the last one he received was, and his heart drops.  
  
February, 9.  
  
Two weeks ago.  
  
More than five months of steady writing, every day, and it abruptly stopped two weeks ago. Yoochun suddenly finds it hard to breathe. Memories of that car accident surface unwanted, when 11 texted him every day – _how are you?_ – and Yoochun never answered because he was unconscious on an hospital bed.  
  
He shakes his head. Surely nothing happened… nothing _that_ bad at least. Yunho says something that Yoochun barely hears. He clicks on the last email he got, telling himself not to panic because there must be a reason… a logical, simple reason. Maybe Changmin had enough after all. Maybe there’s a problem with his mail inbox. Maybe he’s travelling. Maybe he’s on a plane for Sydney. Maybe--  
  
  
_Jungmi and I broke up. If you ever cared, please come back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....cliffhanger?? :D
> 
> Ok so extra long chapter since I had no idea where to stop it >< I really enjoyed writing this part and I'm hoping you'll find it interesting to read despite the blatant lack of actual YooMin and a frustrating return to written one-sided communication -- let's all pat poor Changminnie's head (I gave you nice 2U instead though *runs*).  
> I wanted/needed to make Yoochun go through this "transformation"... for him to start feeling okay with the person he is at last, independently of his story with Changmin, and eventually realize that there *is* always a choice despite what he used to believe... anyway I'm rambling XD
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading/commenting~ ♥


	11. Of a cold and homecoming

Three days after reading that last e-mail from Changmin, Yoochun is in the plane back home.  
  
He would have left at once but there was stuff to deal with first – find money for a return ticket, mainly. He can count himself lucky he made quite a lot of dependable friends in a five kilometers radius around Rowe Street. Sad to say, he doesn’t deserve their trust. Yoochun told them his mother was sick, because no one would have been half so openhanded if he had said the truth.  
  
Yunho knows the truth though, or at least Yoochun went over it three times and it’s not for lack of trying if the older man is still convinced that Changmin is his boyfriend. The other was determined to help. Yoochun realized then that Yunho was in fact the beyond-sappy happy-ending-loving sort of guy, but he couldn’t decently make fun of it when it became clear that Yunho intended to pay for half the plane ticket.  
  
“Tell me when you come to South Korea next time” Yoochun made him promise before leaving, “I’m going to make it up to you, you’ll see. You can eat lobster every day if you want. My treat.”  
  
“Lobster.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“No sun.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Boyfriend peace?”  
  
“I’ll try” Yoochun told him gravely, “I promise I’ll try. If I don’t you can hand me over to the sharks.”  
  
Yunho smiled that bright empty smile that meant he hadn’t understood a thing, and Yoochun said goodbye.  
  
  
  
  
It was still early morning when his plane departed from Sydney airport but the temperature was already around 25°C, and above was cloudless blue sky. It’s night when they land in Seoul, and Yoochun remembers belatedly that it’s the heart of winter here, and his flip flops and shorts won’t get him very far. He resorts to asking around until someone agrees to lend him their phone.  
  
The conversation lasts two minutes, long enough for Yoochun to tell Jaejoong to bring him clothes half a dozen times. When he hangs up however he has to wonder if his friend did hear it, so busy Jaejoong was squealing over the phone. There’s nothing to do but wait and he ends up falling asleep on a bench, his beach towel wrapped over him and a hand clasped over his luggage for fear someone steals it.  
  
It’s well past midnight and the airport’s main hall is empty when a hand shakes him awake.   
  
“Yoochun?”  
  
He sneezes.  
  
“I got you clothes. Underwear too. The way you insisted I thought maybe you’d be naked but that’s silly right? They don’t let naked men on planes.”  
  
Yoochun sneezes again. He sits up slowly, his back and limbs aching from the long trip and uncomfortable sleep, and grabs the beach towel as it slips from his shoulders. Jaejoong is standing in front of him. He’s holding a plastic bag in one hand and a box of what looks like spicy rice cakes in the other. He’s crying – fat round tears rolling down his cheeks, and the sight does things to Yoochun’s heart.  
  
“Don’t go sentimental on me” he warns his friend anyway, shivering as cold air hits his bare arms and legs. “I’m cold and tired and cranky, and that bench is the worst thing I’ve ever slept on.”  
  
“I’m so glad to see you” Jaejoong says, wiping tears away with the back of his hand. “So so glad to see you.”  
  
“What did I just say?”  
  
“I was afraid you’d never come back.”  
  
“Jae-“  
  
“I watched the news every day in case something happened and they talked about you. I’d never watched the news before. It’s not very cheerful. I always get depressed, but you remember I told you it’s all a matter of kicking the goblin out.”  
  
Yoochun blinks, trying to remember if Jaejoong has always been this bad. Years of hanging out together made him Jaejoong-immune, but he can feel a headache creeping up, and that means either he lost his touch or his friend moved onto the next stage of insanity while he was away. He hopes it’s the former.  
  
“I’m glad to see you too” he says for lack of a better answer.  
  
“Take the clothes” Jaejoong sniffs as he hands out the plastic bag. “I got shoes for you too. And I bought food. Korean food. Yooseon said they ate kangaroos and crocodiles in Australia.”  
  
“They do” Yoochun smiles as he rummages inside the bag, pleased to see that Jaejoong chose warm clothes, relatively normal and apparently clean, “but crocodile is expensive and kangaroo is not that good.”  
  
Jaejoong doesn’t answer at once. He tilts his head, studying him silently as Yoochun wriggles into a sweater that’s a bit too tight, but much more fitting than a beach towel when it’s -5°C outside.  
  
“You’re blue.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You” Jaejoong smiles more widely, “you’re blue.”  
  
“…If you mean I’m damn cold then yeah, I’m half-frozen.”  
  
“I’m so glad.”  
  
 _‘Can you try and make sense for once?’_ – Yoochun nearly says, but it’d be useless. He rather likes the blissful grin on Jaejoong’s face anyway. Changmin’s smile is not the only one he missed during the past six months.  
  
“I’m back” he says instead, and sneezes again.  
  
  
  
  
It turns out that Yoochun caught a first-class cold in Incheon arrival hall, and all chivalrous plans of rushing at once to wherever Changmin is are subsequently delayed. He spends the next four days cooped up in Jaejoong’s flat, unable to do anything but blow his nose and fill plastic bags with used handkerchiefs that Jaejoong treats like nuclear waste and refuses to approach.  
  
He tries to make the best of his forced confinement by learning more about what happened, since it’s obvious from Changmin’s emails that he and Jaejoong grew closer while he was away – and while Yoochun is happy about it, the idea of the two of them plotting who-knows-what in his back also makes him very anxious. He hoped Jaejoong would help but his friend turned a deaf ear to all his questions, and he’s left with suppositions only.  
  
Yoochun won’t lie; his first reaction reading about the break-up was happiness. He knows what that makes him: a failure as a friend, an embittered third wheel, and a bit of a jerk like many have told him (among much worse things) – but that’s who Yoochun is. That much about him hasn’t changed.  
  
His second reaction was worry. Yes, Changmin isn’t like him – he doesn’t run. He fights and gets back on his feet and he’ll be alright. But he also asked him to come back, _please_ , and that’s not the kind of thing Changmin does. That’s what the selfish brat does… the one Yoochun can’t help but indulge, the one who made him think that maybe it was worth caring, and the one he fell in love with.  
  
He isn’t sure what could have happened with Jungmi. Changmin told him a lot in his emails – good moments, others not so good, plans for the future and a few fights – but he saw no ground here for a break-up less than four months before their wedding. Changmin and Jungmi _fit_ , as much as Yoochun didn’t want to admit it. They’re made of the same mold. Together _they_ were blatant… as natural as Changmin and he are odd and unlikely.  
  
Jaejoong won’t tell him anything though. The only piece of information he deigned to leak was that Changmin was staying at Junsu’s for now, and he obligingly gave him the address. He texted that same address to him six times. He writes it on the boxes of Yoochun’s cold medicine. He writes it on the packs of his favorite cereals. He writes it every day on a paper that he leaves on the bedside table, stuck under an orange lava lamp. He even wrote it once with toothpaste on the bathroom mirror.  
  
“I think I got the hint” Yoochun tells him the fourth day at breakfast, after he woke up and found the address written in big, red letters on his forearm. “I’ll go tomorrow.”  
  
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about” Jaejoong answers while putting on his coat. “Don’t forget to take your medicine, you want to look good and healthy.”  
  
“I thought he was a bastard and you didn’t like him because he made me sad!!” Yoochun shouts, but only the sound of the front door slamming shut answers him.  
  
  
  
  
It’s early afternoon when Yoochun rings at the door of Junsu’s apartment the next day. The area looks nice, he notices while waiting. Far from the crappy student room and university campus where Yoochun first met him. It seems a lot happened on that side too. The door opens and he puts his friendliest smile on when Junsu comes out, unsure of the kind of welcome he should expect. The other guy doesn’t say anything at first, his expression guarded, until a smile briefly touches his lips.  
  
“You look fine” he says like everything is perfectly normal, “but your nose still looks like a tomato. Jaejoong didn’t lie when he said you were a walking chemical weapon.”  
  
“It’s good to see you too.”  
  
Junsu smiles again, wider, moving aside to let him come in.  
  
“He’s here” he says, motioning toward a door at the opposite end of the room. “I only told him this morning that you were back. Else he’d have barged in at Jaejoong’s, straight into your germs. You know he hates being sick.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“He said to kick you in the face and he ran to the bedroom when he heard the doorbell just now.”  
  
“He doesn’t want to see me?” Yoochun asks anxiously. “I mean, I would understand if he doesn’t, I-“  
  
“He has wanted to see you every day since you threw your feelings in his face and fled to another continent” Junsu cuts him sharply, “but right now he just broke up with the girl he thought he was going to spend his life with, and you coming back now isn’t exactly making matters simpler.”  
  
“He asked me to come back.”  
  
“Which is why I didn’t kick you in the face” Junsu says lightly, grabbing the coat hanging next to the door. “You fix things with him. I’m going for a walk. You two reek of drama and I need some fresh air.”  
  
The door barely closed behind him that Yoochun crossed the room. He grips the handle and pushes the bedroom door open without a second thought. He doesn’t stop to wonder if he’s ready. He doesn’t know what to tell him. He hasn’t prepared anything. What he needs now is Changmin because it’s been _months_ and suddenly Changmin is here, and this time he’s here just for him.  
  
“Yoochun.”  
  
The young man rises from the bed and Yoochun stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees him. His heartbeat abruptly accelerates into a mad dance, pounding so hard he’s sure Changmin can hear it from where he’s standing across of him. Just here. So close. Close enough to touch after six months, and Yoochun is glad that he didn’t lie to himself about his own feelings, because despite Australia and Yunho and Jungmi, despite how he changed and how he didn’t, he still loves Changmin and loves him more maybe, and he missed him, and he wants to tell him again that he loves him but also that it’s ok, he’s glad he does because that’s the best part of him.  
  
Yoochun desperately wants to take him in his arms and erase what happened but he obliges himself to stay still, studying him from here.  
  
Changmin looks much the same as before – same haircut, figure, features… same hands that Yoochun wants to hold always and same mouth that he wants to touch, kiss and draw smiles from. Shaved clean and dressed properly as always. He may be a tad thinner but it’s hard to tell. It takes a few seconds before Yoochun spots the open luggage near the bed – a mess of clothes and toiletries, not at all organized as they should – and the faint traces on Changmin’s mouth. Yoochun pictures him incessantly worrying his lips between his teeth, a frown on his face, lost in stubborn silence. He smiles to himself a little sadly.  
  
“I’m back” he hears himself say.  
  
“I can see that.”  
  
Not good. Too curt. Too detached – though Changmin’s eyes say otherwise. He’s trying not to betray anything but Yoochun can read much and more in them. _Who are you trying to fool… you’re hurt, you’re relieved, you still wish you could give me that punch in the face I probably deserve, and you feel bad for making me come back here when I may have been happier somewhere else._  
  
Right now however, the young man in front of him wants to act strong, levelheaded and mature – for _this_ Changmin, there isn’t much Yoochun can do.  
  
“No ‘welcome back’ hug?” he asks lightly, playing his part as he’s supposed to.  
  
“It’s not funny” Changmin frowns.  
  
“It’s not funny” Yoochun agrees, “but I can’t really ask you how you’ve been doing, can I?”  
  
“You would know if you hadn’t gone into hiding for six months.”  
  
“You can hit me if that makes you feel better.”  
  
“Don’t be stupid” Changmin sits back stiffly on the edge of the bed, his frown deepening.  
  
Yoochun can do little but watch him. He thinks he’d be content with just being allowed to watch him like this for the next ten minutes, or the next ten days. Just watching. He likes watching him. He missed that. He needs to, as obsessive as that may sound. It’s like a bad habit that he keeps falling back into, and Yoochun doesn’t have any control over the urge to stare at him, not when Changmin is right here… not when it’s just the two of them, as it should always be.  
  
Yoochun watches the frown on his face and thinks of what could make him smile. He thinks he should have been here. He thinks Changmin must have felt so alone. He doesn’t think about saying sorry; Yoochun isn’t here to apologize.  
  
He looks at him as Changmin stares – that same intent stare that used to make him so uncomfortable, but not anymore. He watches him as Changmin hesitates and tries hard not to look affected. Stiff. Fingers clenching and unclenching. Breathing in deeply once, twice, before he ventures a question.  
  
“So what did you do in Australia?”  
  
“Small jobs. Cleaning. Gardening. Fixing fences.”  
  
 _Kissing hot tall guys who looked a bit like you._  
  
“Sounds fantastic” Changmin deadpans. “I wonder why you came back.”  
  
“Because you asked me to.”  
  
Changmin flinches and Yoochun nearly regrets saying it, but he can’t help it. He likes seeing that other side of him… that other Changmin, the one who’s not always right but unsure instead – tentative, hesitant, a tad vulnerable. That side he doesn’t like to show but that Yoochun knows how to find and sometimes doesn’t hesitate to uncover, just because he can.  
  
Because he needs to make sure it’s still _his_.  
  
“…I’m sorry about that” Changmin answers after a silence, a flicker of doubt or guilt crossing his eyes as the tension in the room lessens noticeably. “I shouldn’t have. It was selfish.”  
  
“No.”  
  
 _Yes._  
  
 _Yes but that’s okay._  
  
Changmin falls silent after that. He looks down at his hands and starts biting his lower lip, still frowning. Yoochun watches him, back to that old gymnastic of the mind as he rummages through his memories. He has the answer to everything in there. He only needs to find the right one – 11 loves chocolate, he hates soccer, he never smoked, he used to be allergic to nuts, he had his first computer at 14 and his first kiss at 16, he knows by heart all the countries and capitals in the world, the first word he spoke as a toddler was “yan” and he called everyone and everything like that for two months, he-  
  
“Oh damn it.”  
  
He raises his head just in time to see Changmin get up from the bed, his expression determined. Yoochun stumbles backwards, briefly wondering if that’s when he gets kicked in the face. The next thing he knows he’s in Changmin’s arms, his face pressed against the young man’s shoulder.  
  
“Changmin you-“  
  
“I missed you” Changmin says precipitately, the words rushed and cracked and hot against Yoochun’s face. “I missed you so much, you’ve no idea.”  
  
“I think I’ve an idea” Yoochun croaks and fails to smile, overwhelmed, warmth rushing to his heart and blood to his face, and tears to his eyes, “and I missed you too.”  
  
“You can’t leave me like that again.”  
  
The young man’s arms tighten around him, insecure and possessive and _selfish_ and oh Yoochun loves him when he’s like that… loves him when Changmin wrecks the lines he drew himself, loves him when Changmin doesn’t ask before taking, loves him above all when Changmin forgets that he’s strong and instead of reminding him that he _is_ , Yoochun pretends to forget too and for just a moment they shine just the same, and their hearts fit just right.  
  
“I won’t” he says.  
  
Changmin doesn’t answer.  
  
His arms tighten even more around Yoochun until he returns the embrace, and he can’t be sure but he thinks that’s when time starts slowing down. When Yoochun stops searching, and running, and changing, and his entire being gently settles back right where it wants to be… warmth, familiar and comforting, the scents, his strength, his wounds as well. Yoochun’s fingers splayed over his back, keeping him close and greedily taking in as much as he can while the moment lasts, because no one should know that place better than him, no one can understand it as he does. It was him who found it first, _him_ , and he belongs here like no one else ever will.  
  
He never really left that place, Yoochun realizes as his heartbeat slows down and rises, fuller by the second, and that place never really changed. He closes his eyes.  
  
He falls forward.  
  
Falls all over again… falls without fear and without regrets. Yoochun searched but he found nothing he wanted more than this. He ran another course, alien and haphazard, and it brought him back here. He changed, he did, but the harmony of that moment right now is still the same, and the core of him remained anchored to that man holding him, to the heart beating just across from his own.  
  
In his arms Changmin sighs, and soon after Yoochun feels him relax. The muscles of his back and shoulders loosen under his hands, his embrace turns less taut. Second after second, tension evaporates, as if Yoochun’s mere presence suffices to erase the strain of the past weeks.  
  
Yoochun smiles, glad for his own selfish reasons but that’s alright. He didn’t ask for this to happen. It just did, and it changed his life.  
  
‘I love you’ he says silently, his lips moving soundlessly against Changmin’s shoulder.  
  
It’s enough. It’s only words, and Yoochun doesn’t intend to ever lose him because of words again.  
  
  
  
  
When Junsu comes back an hour later, he finds them both in his kitchen. Yoochun is perched on the table, swinging his legs and waving a spoon around enthusiastically as he talks about Australia, a nearly full bucket of vanilla ice cream next to him. Changmin is leaning against the sink, looking at him and obviously not believing a word he says but laughing all the same, his own bucket of chocolate ice cream on the sink and half-empty. His eyes shining with amusement, warm, alive, and the extra sparkle brought by mingled affection and wonder.  
  
“What is the ice cream for?” Junsu asks, dropping his coat on the back of a chair.  
  
“Celebration” Yoochun grins at him. “There’s one for you in the freezer.”  
  
“It’s the middle of winter.”  
  
“In Australia it’s summer.”  
  
“And what are we celebrating?” Junsu asks again, knowing better than to argue when Yoochun is in the mood for trolling and Changmin looks happy for the first time in weeks. He opens the freezer and finds his favorite strawberry ice cream, and decides the middle of winter is just perfect for it.  
  
“Whatever you want to celebrate” Yoochun shrugs, “does it matter?”  
  
“I suppose it doesn’t” Junsu concedes, rummaging inside the kitchen drawer until he finds a spoon. “What were you saying about koalas?”  
  
“It’s a long story.”  
  
Changmin starts giggling all by himself. Junsu doesn’t miss the fond look Yoochun throws his way.  
  
‘So we are playing that game again?’ he thinks, digging into his ice cream and looking at the two of them alternatively. His gaze stops on Yoochun, who’s back to his story – a vivid picture of mixed truth and lies, only meant to make Changmin laugh like nothing wrong ever happened.  
  
 _Will pretence be enough now_ , Junsu asks silently, _this time, will you keep him a dream or are you ready to want more?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter but it brings back YooMin~ (and JaeSu, best friends know better XD). Thank you for reading/commenting!


	12. Of lies and happiness

A week passes before Yoochun finally asks.  
  
Officially, they went to try a newly opened coffee shop not far from Changmin’s previous workplace. Unofficially, they have months to catch up with and are both acutely aware of a distance that must be bridged. In reality they just missed each other terribly and need a pretext to be together.  
  
The new coffee shop it is.  
  
They soon agree that while the hot cocoa here is nowhere as great as the one in their previous headquarters, the latte is passable, and the pastries are pretty good. They’ve finished discussing the respective merits of croissants and chocolate fudge cakes when there’s a blank in the conversation, and Yoochun grabs the occasion, knowing he can’t escape the matter forever.  
  
“So…” he ventures awkwardly, “what happened with Jungmi?”  
  
Changmin throws him an odd look.  
  
“You read my emails right?”  
  
Yoochun hums noncommittally, remembering the one hundred messages or so still waiting to be opened in his inbox.  
  
“…You didn’t read them” Changmin states after a few seconds. He doesn’t look surprised or disappointed. More like _‘I should have known’_.  
  
“I read them” Yoochun argues vehemently, “most of them at least… I mean… half of it. I think.”  
  
For a second Changmin looks like he can’t decide if he should laugh or strangle him. He eventually settles for a shrug and goes back to staring dully at his hot cocoa. It makes Yoochun feel bad. Changmin _always_ knows how to make him feel bad, he reflects inwardly. It’s annoying. That’s just like he told Yunho – like Yoochun doesn’t try hard enough – but the point is, Yoochun doesn’t _try_. He doesn’t like trying. Trying means possibly failing, and Yoochun dreads failing. But he also promised Yunho he would try.  
  
“So what happened?” he says again after a prolonged silence, remembering against his will that other time when he asked him that same question, and the answer turned out to be Changmin’s father and cancer. Yoochun was right when he thought back then that he would never know how to handle some things.  
  
Changmin looks up. He studies him silently for a while then smiles a little – a bitter smile, Yoochun notes – and shakes his head.  
  
“You could say we thought we wanted the same thing” he says slowly, his voice oddly soft, “but we were wrong. We were just wrong.”  
  
  
  
  
It was nothing at first.  
  
Changmin merely had a little trouble adjusting at work, and that’s something he had been expecting. He knows the blame lies mostly with himself. He _knows_ he’s bad at compromising. Bad at empathizing. Bad at socializing. Demanding. Stubborn. Critical. Distant. With a poor sense of humor – sarcastic at best, mocking at worst. Too stern. Too cold, too blunt, and rude often.  
  
He also knows that after a while, people generally come to understand the way he functions and while they don’t become _friends_ , strictly speaking, they make do with him and even manage to turn the whole unappealing Changmin-package into something useful, if not quite an asset.  
  
He hadn’t reached that stage yet at work however, and the days proved to be grueling. Mean nicknames and cold shoulders. Still better than high school or university, but it hurt all the same.  
  
Moving in with Jungmi had been stressful too, so soon after graduating. He knew how much their respective families were expecting of him, and that was pressure he would well have done without.  
  
Then Yoochun left, leaving nothing behind but a scathing _‘I love you’_ that Changmin couldn’t wrap his mind around and that soon turned obsessive and accusing. The wedding preparations crowned it all.  
  
Jungmi noticed the change, of course. She was here all along. They went away for impromptu week-ends. They planned surprises for each other. He remembers fits of crazy laughter at 3am in a hotel on Jeju island and tears of happiness on her 24th birthday – she had looked gorgeous that day and he has that image engraved in his memory; her dark hair and slender waist, the softness of her small hand in his, sparkling eyes smiling up at him. ‘I don’t deserve you’ he had told her that night, and she had laughed and said she loved him too.  
  
Jungmi noticed and tried hard to fix what wasn’t broken in the first place, and that was her first mistake. A few days before Christmas, she asked if he wanted to delay the wedding. She only meant to help, to relieve some of the pressure. They had their first full-blown fight that day.  
  
Before this and in spite of everything, Changmin believed that with Jungmi at least, all was fine. That day she told him that he didn’t trust her. It hurt nearly as much as Yoochun’s _‘I love you’_ , and before he knew it Changmin was shouting and she was crying. Then they made up. He held her. He said he loved her. He said it again, and she clung onto him and told him everything was fine.  
  
But Changmin saw the way she smiled afterwards – the corners of her lips upturning, a spark of mirth and carefreeness, and suddenly holding it back. Just like when he had first met her. And for the first time in his life, Changmin chose to run away rather than to face the fact that he had hurt her.  
  
There was a second fight, a third, many of them, until one day she broke down and told him he didn’t have to push himself so hard now. She said she understood – his father’s death, how he had to be strong all this time, how hard it must have been. Changmin listened to her like in a daze, wondering why on earth it sounded like she thought that something had been _wrong_ with him all those years. That’s when he realized that she believed he had been someone else at some point… that before his father died, Changmin hadn’t been so withdrawn, so hardheaded, so _discordant_.  
  
It wasn’t just the past months, he understood later; she had been trying to fix him all along, and bring him back to the person she thought he once had been. As if he was broken, when he was just himself.  
  
She loved him, she did… loved him like you’d love a riddle or a good story – waiting for the outcome, the hidden truth… anticipating the barely outlined answer that you glimpsed here and there through the pages without managing to grasp it, and that finally reveals itself to you in the last chapter, luminous and perfect. But in Changmin’s case there was no secret truth to uncover. He never lied to her, never hid anything. And she never did understand that _this_ was who he was.  
  
They broke up two days later, and she didn’t cry. She held back and let a fake smile freeze upon her face. She said maybe it’d be better if they didn’t keep in touch, and she turned away, her hair covering her face, dark and heavy.  
  
Someone else would have tried to hold her back, he now realizes. Someone else would have promised they’d change. It was all that she needed to hear. It didn’t matter if they both knew that would never happen – she only needed to hear him say it.  
  
But all Changmin could do was apologize for being who he was, _just_ who he was, and that was the last thing that she wanted from him.  
  
What she wanted was lies.  
  
  
  
  
“And what do you want?”  
  
Changmin raises his head, looking at their surroundings confusedly like he forgot where he was and with whom. Yoochun sips on his drink, keeping his hands busy. He watched him silently for the past ten minutes… the shadows veiling his eyes, dim memories passing like clouds, palpable yet out of reach. The tension in his arms and shoulders, and the fading echoes of anger and sadness drawing new lines on his face. Another wound. Soon another scar.  
  
 _She couldn’t do it right_ , he knew _. She didn’t know how, and he didn’t let her._  
  
“You said that you and her didn’t want the same thing” Yoochun adds softly, “so what is it that you want, Changmin-ah?”  
  
 _A nice job_ , he remembers. _A nice wife. A nice house. A nice garden and nice kids, a damn dog. He knows what he wants. He has always known._  
  
“…The same as everyone, I guess” Changmin answers slowly with a tired smile, sounding nearly wary.  
  
“What do you mean, ‘the same as everyone’?”  
  
 _He knows what he wants his life to be. He has known for years. He won’t ever question it. That’s the kind of person he is. A house, job, family. A normal life. A nice normal life. Nothing I can give him._  
  
There’s another silence.  
  
“I want to be happy” Changmin says at last, shrugging slightly like to pretend he doesn’t really care, as if it’s not so important. “That’s what everyone wants, right? To be happy.”  
  
It’s just a few cracked words, and they pierce through Yoochun’s heart like a knife.  
  
He nods in answer, not trusting his voice. He can’t look at Changmin anymore. Yoochun remembers his dreams, illusions, fantasies… the hundred escapes he found, all the detours he made not to face reality just in case it would hurt. The countless ways he found to fake happiness since he was always too much of a coward to actually go for the real thing. He has never felt so ashamed of himself.  
  
He reaches out instinctively and touches his hand across the table, and Changmin looks up and meets his gaze. Clear brown eyes that years didn’t alter because even when Changmin was only 20 and laughing, there was too much reserve and depth in them. Staring intently, unsettling… even now. Sad too, and lonely. _You have to smile_ , Yoochun wants to remind him. _Your smile made it worth it_.  
  
“You have to smile” Yoochun tells him “else I’m going back to Australia.”  
  
“As if I’d let you leave again” Changmin mutters. He doesn’t smile. He takes his hand. A squeeze of his fingers before he releases it and averts his eyes, and all Yoochun can think of is how warm that hand still is.  
  
  
~  
  
  
This morning Changmin wakes up alone, his mind clogged with shreds of dreams that were half nightmares and half truth. He doesn’t open his eyes at once, vaguely hoping that Jungmi would be asleep next to him when he does but painfully aware that it is a vain hope. And a lie. Changmin knows that chapter of his life is over and done with, but even for him sometimes _knowing_ isn’t enough.  
  
He knows it’s well time for him to get his act together. He knows he can’t squat at Junsu’s forever. He knows he needs to find some motivation at his new job, and soon, because he can tell he’s slacking even though he just started working again and Changmin never did anything halfheartedly before. He knows his family is worried. Yoochun is worried. Junsu is pretending not to be worried, and Jaejoong bought him a globe last week saying he needed to widen his perspectives.  
  
It was all vague feelings before, but this morning it’s crystal-clear: Changmin lost his grip.  
  
This morning – four months after his 25th birthday, five months after he resigned from his first job. Nine months after Yoochun left and three after he came back. On the day Jungmi and he had agreed on for their wedding, Changmin faces it. He lost his grip.  
  
He stays unmoving after the alarm rings, staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts run after each other on that white empty space above.  
  
He climbed relentlessly during the past five years, after his father died – don’t look down, don’t look back, forward now. He had solid holds, people he could rely on. He moved upwards, upwards, _don’t look down_. Ahead now. Higher. That’s what everyone does, he thought, not aware of the small voice whispering urgently at the back of his mind – _don’t look down, don’t look back, higher now_. Changmin wouldn’t fail them… he wouldn’t fail _him_ , he wouldn’t, _he wouldn’t_.  
  
Maybe Jungmi had been right after all, maybe he _was_ broken. Maybe he didn’t trust her. He closes his eyes when bitter tears rise.  
  
It’s useless. That chapter is closed now.  
  
  
  
Later that day, in the train he takes to go to work, Changmin remembers when Yoochun said _‘I love you’_ and he knows that’s when he first glanced down. He became aware of the void beneath, and he stopped climbing then. The rest was a vain struggle to grab hold of _something_ again, but nothing could replace Yoochun after he left, and the void beneath was looming, alien and bottomless.  
  
Changmin lost his grip the day Jungmi and he broke up.  
  
He grabs one of the plastic handles when the train brakes abruptly. Other passengers stumble on their feet and find their balance back in a matter of seconds, undisturbed. Changmin doesn’t see them. He thinks of the past weeks – of being left behind, of falling back while everyone else goes on. Most people keep their eyes shut tight as they fall, but Changmin had them wide open. He saw.  
  
Junsu is doing amazing with that local soccer team he joined. He says “people” have been talking about _him_. There are stars in his eyes those days; he’s living the dream he’s dreamed all his life. He’s happy, and as often, happiness calls to happiness.  
Junsu is in love, Changmin knows, though he hasn’t met her yet. Junsu’s dreams have grown and are now big enough to embrace someone more _._  
  
Changmin’s sisters are working now. The oldest spends half of her time abroad, running from one place to the other and greedily taking all that life can give her. The youngest dropped university and started running a store with her best friend, a project they had had in mind for years.  
Both of them spread their wings, and they are now flying well ahead of him.  
  
And Yoochun… Yoochun was contacted by one of the friends he made in Australia. A redhead called Liam, loud and boisterous, a bit of a genius. The guy has been working in his father’s company in Ireland since he was 15 and started managing a small branch of it. He wants to expand it to South Korea, and he asked Yoochun if he was interested in joining the adventure.  
  
Changmin can still hear the way Yoochun laughed the first time they talked about it – “he trusts me, Changmin… _me_ ” he was chuckling as if recalling a very good joke, “I told him the most everyone has ever trusted me so far was for sweeping floors and selling cat food, I _told_ him, but that guy is even more stubborn than you”. That evening Changmin let him laugh until he had enough, then he threatened to slice his throat open if Yoochun didn’t call Liam at once to tell him he was in.  
  
Yoochun stopped laughing and he called Liam.  
  
Yoochun has changed.  
  
Changmin keeps watching him since he came back from Australia. It’s that _‘I love you’_. It’s how Yoochun looked at him when he said it. It’s everything Yoochun held back from him, and how much it hurts to think he never noticed. He never glimpsed again that feverish haze in his friend’s eyes though – _‘I love you’_ Yoochun said, and he left. Sometimes Changmin wonders if he dreamed it.  
  
Often he watches him and wonders if Yoochun still loves him. He isn’t sure how he feels about that.  
  
One sure thing is that Yoochun has changed, and nowadays it looks like he intends to catch up in just a few months with all the years he let pass by idly. He’s shooting ahead, cutting corners, dodging obstacles as easily as he once ran away from them, and Changmin can do little but watch him. He would tell him to be more careful, but it feels as if whoever will try hindering Yoochun in his headlong rush will only manage to get burned – the way a flame burns if you come too close.  
  
  
  
The train comes to a halt. Changmin gets off and stops, letting the flow of people pass by him. He stays like this for a full minute, staring down at the ground with a frown on his face. Then he looks up and steps forward.  
  
Today is when he crashes down, he decides.  
  
Today is when Changmin hits the ground, and starts climbing again.  
  
  
~  
  
  
 _▪ You are late._  
  
 _Nearly here. Go in, I’ll meet you inside_  
  
 _▪ I’m not going in there without you. It’s full of freaks._  
  
 _They’re soccer fans, Changmin. Not thugs._  
  
 _No one will kill you_  
  
 _If they kill you I’ll avenge you, I swear_  
  
 _▪ You swore you wouldn’t be late_  
  
 _▪ Someone is trying to find tickets, can’t we just sell him ours?_  
  
 _No_  
  
 _▪ He looks really desperate, I’m sure he’d pay a lot…_  
  
 _NO_  
  
 _▪ But he looks about to cry_  
  
 _Just go in already_  
  
 _▪ I HATE soccer_  
  
 _▪ I don’t want to_  
  
 _You told Junsu you’d go_  
  
 _▪ As if I could say no_  
  
 _▪ He’s been going about that game for weeks like his life depends on it_  
  
 _▪ Why couldn’t he choose badminton instead_  
  
 _▪ Or ice skating_  
  
 _▪ Or ballet_  
  
 _I’m here. Did you go in?_  
  
 _Changmin-ah?_  
  
 _Come on, it’s just soccer_  
  
 _And you’re a big boy now, right?_  
  
 _▪ They are selling chocolate bars inside_  
  
 _…alright_  
  
 _I’m getting you one_  
  
 _▪ Two!_  
  
 _I said one_  
  
 _▪ Three, and the beers are on you_  
  
 _No beers for brats_  
  
 _▪ Whatever._  
  
 _▪ I can tell you’re feeling magnanimous today ^^_  
  
 _Shut up_  
  
 _I got four. Beers too._  
  
 _▪ ^^_  
  
 _▪ Hurry up_  
  
 _▪ It’s starting_  
  
 _▪ You don’t want to miss Junsu strutting around like he owns the damn place_  
  
 _▪ It’s like Miss Korea with shorts_  
  
 _If he wins I’ll tell him you said that_  
  
  
  
  
“He said you looked like Miss Korea.”  
  
“And when Jongho made a pass at me like _SHASH_ right under their nose, did you see that?? We let the defense come to us as planned, the risk is higher but I told them, we can do this-“  
  
“He probably mistook your ass for boobs, thinking about it now…”  
  
“I said, let us work in pairs like we did in Suwon and when we control their moves in the midfield _BAM_ trigger the pressing phase and go _WOOSH_ past their right flank cos we know it’s weaker-“  
  
“He’s not listening.”  
  
“I know. I just want to see how far I can go while he’s like this.”  
  
“Then _DANG_ Taewhinnie was there just like we agreed, I swear it was brilliant! Their defense was like nowhere, disappeared, _POOF_!    
  
“Does he always talk like a cartoon character after a game?”  
  
“Only when he wins” Changmin shrugs, “when he loses he doesn’t speak at all.”  
  
“You like it when he loses” Yoochun states offhandedly, his eyes on Junsu as the guy runs all over the kitchen, reenacting the entire earlier game with an empty can of beer as soccer ball. So far he hit Changmin twice with it but surprisingly the younger man kept his cool.  
  
“He’s a pain in the ass when he loses” Changmin looks up at him, scowling. “He broods all day in his stinking soccer shorts without speaking or eating and when he’s done sulking I have to listen to him explain why they lost but also why it’s not so bad because _‘when you lose you win since you learn’_ or whatever it is and-“  
  
“Now I know why you hate soccer.”  
  
Changmin opens his mouth to answer but then Junsu kicks the can in his direction _again_ and the young man has to dodge to avoid it. It hits the wall next to his head, falls on the floor with a _clang_ , and immediately takes back its role as a soccer ball as Junsu makes for the opponent’s goal (the fridge) all the while talking alone and making weird noises. Yoochun shakes his head and opens a new beer.  
  
“Where is his girlfriend by the way? I thought she’d be here.”  
  
“No idea. Probably found a pretext to be busy tonight and let us deal with him” Changmin answers, grimacing as he stretches his arms above his head. He sat down on the kitchen floor as soon as they arrived at Junsu’s earlier and refused to move since.  
  
“You should get up” Yoochun says, watching him, “or at least get a chair.”  
  
“Can’t move” Changmin mumbles. “I’m the other-“  
  
The can of beer comes whirling and strikes the wall on Changmin’s left, making them both startle. Junsu shouts and kicks it back savagely toward the fridge, which isn’t as lucky as Changmin.  
  
“GOOOOOAAAAAL!”  
  
“I’m the other goal” the young man explains again, speaking loud to be heard above Junsu’s cheering, “his team’s, always. So I can’t move. You get it?”  
  
Yoochun stares.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Never mind, it’ll be over soon” Changmin motions toward Junsu who’s now running in circles and gave up on using articulate words, “see, it’s the victory lap.”  
  
“Thank god.”  
  
“As you say. Last time the other team had scored five times” the young man winces again, rubbing his shoulder. “It’s good I found a new place. One more week of Junsu’s sofa bed and you’d have to push me around in a wheelchair.”  
  
“I can massage your back later” Yoochun offers absentmindedly, his gaze back on Junsu. “I’ve become pretty good at that in Australia. Yunho kept asking me for massages.”  
  
Changmin opens his mouth. He closes it, staring at Yoochun who’s still focused on Junsu, an amused smile floating on his lips as he watches the other’s antics. Changmin frowns, something swirling in his eyes that could be doubt or reticence or frustration. Several times he looks about to speak but always holds back, and silence stretches, tense and heavy in spite of all the noise Junsu is still making.  
  
As soon as Changmin looks away, Yoochun’s gaze shifts to him.  
  
Unreadable.  
  
There are no more words between them afterwards, only a quiet game of stolen glances. No winner for this one, but a fragile balance to keep... they aren't sure why that balance changed in the first place. It's still a game they are playing - another game that could change everything, but this time they weren't told the rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm hoping the vague explanations about Changmin and Jungmi's break-up are not unsatisfactory XD The point is, I wanted it to have happened not because of some dramatic event, but rather the sad, commonplace (?) realization that in the end maybe the two of them did not know/fit each other so well... falling out of love, plus the added stress of life (including Yoochun's "I love you" and departure), and the fact that they are both still very young in this. Let's all remember that Changmin in this fic is someone who rarely questions the decisions he made unless pushed into a corner, and marrying Jungmi was one of those decisions he took because it felt "natural", "logical" and above all because he loved her, but without stopping to wonder if they were ready for it.  
> NOW. Let the YooMin start at last! :D
> 
> Thanks as always for reading/commenting <3


	13. Of facts and red roses

There are facts you aren’t supposed to question.  
  
Fire burns. Ice is cold. Water is wet. Chocolate is life, and Changmin doesn’t like men. He doesn’t. He 100% doesn’t. Make it 200%.  
  
He never questioned it before Yoochun’s sudden declaration and he didn’t question it _after_. What bothered him was that he didn’t notice. You are supposed to notice when your only friend, the one you’ve known for years, _that_ friend you know by heart happens to be in love with you. But Changmin didn’t and he had plenty of time to ponder about it while Yoochun was away… putting his analytical mind to work, ordering, listing, labeling feelings and sorting memories, until he came to the brilliant conclusion that he had no idea how such a thing happened.  
  
It happened though. That’s a fact, one with little consideration for Changmin’s lines, and it bothered him the way a pebble in your shoe bothers you – something not supposed to be here yet it’s always on your mind.  
  
So yes, Changmin did think a lot about it, but never to wonder if that was the kind of feelings he could reciprocate. The mere idea never crossed his mind – and why should it? Changmin doesn’t like men, snow melts, birds fly, and you have to eat to live.  
  
Then Yoochun came back, and it proved hard to think of an _‘I love you’_ as an inconvenience or an offensive attack on his sacrosanct logic. There were feelings to consider, but feelings were never the way Changmin favored. Feelings aren’t reliable. There are no lines to trace here, no right way to go.  
  
No.  
  
Changmin naturally reverted to what had never betrayed him – truth, facts, causes, consequences – and it took some time but he finally found his answer: he didn’t notice because the mere idea that Yoochun could love him had never even crossed his mind. Just like you wouldn’t suspect the earth is round if no one had ever told you.  
  
Changmin rather liked that. It made sense. If he had had just an inkling of what was going on… a hint, the slightest clue that Yoochun loved him, then surely Changmin would have noticed. Without doubt.  
  
But surely you have to like men to imagine such a possibility, and Changmin doesn’t like men, so he didn’t consider it, and he didn’t notice.  
  
If Changmin liked men he would have considered it, and he would have noticed.  
  
If Changmin had been aware of Yoochun like a man who likes men is aware of other men then Changmin would surely have considered the possibility of Yoochun liking him and hence he would have noticed, but he has never seen Yoochun as someone he could like _like_ _this_ since he doesn’t like men so he didn’t consider it and he didn’t notice. Yes, that made perfect sense.  
  
Changmin needed to make sure though, and more importantly to know what Yoochun feels _now_. And the only way he found to do that was to go backwards… back up the solid chain of causes and consequences.  
  
It’s merely a matter of perspectives, he tells himself. Try being aware of him like he’s aware of you, and the signs will become obvious.  
  
Pay attention to the words that could mean more than what they seem, to the gestures that look casual but could be deliberate. Pay attention to his looks, expressions, silences, and wonder which of them could shelter that _‘I love you’_ Changmin doesn’t know what to make of but can’t stop thinking about – he wants to know where Yoochun hides the feelings he doesn’t want him to see.  
  
That’s how Changmin unknowingly starts playing a dangerous game, disregarding the lines that define him, putting aside what he knows he is and isn’t in order to pretend to be someone else… someone who could like and need Yoochun without unquestioningly putting him in a nice square with the word _‘friend’_ written above. Someone who could see Yoochun and think “what if this guy loved me?” And ultimately, someone who could watch Yoochun and wonder, “what if I loved that guy?”  
  
It’s just pretence… it’s just the farfetched way that causes and consequences lead him to choose, and it just can’t go wrong, he tells himself.  
  
That’s how Changmin forgets that beyond the facts, there are the feelings too.  
  
  
~  
  
  
 _I have nothing planned this evening_  
  
 _Just so you know_  
  
 _▪ Thanks, I guess_  
  
 _I’ll be at the new coffee shop_  
  
 _▪ …_  
  
 _What?_  
  
 _I’m just telling you about my evening_  
  
 _The one I’m going to spend alone at the new coffee shop_  
  
 _▪ YOOCHUN._  
  
 _Since I’ve nothing else to do_  
  
 _▪ Stop it ok?_  
  
 _▪ I appreciate your concern, but we’re just going to settle matters for the apartment_  
  
 _▪ I’ll sign the damn papers, give them to her, and it will be over_  
  
 _You haven’t seen Jungmi in months_  
  
 _▪ So what?_  
  
 _▪ I’m perfectly fine_  
  
 _I thought you never lied_  
  
  
  
  
“What is this???”  
  
“Well… there’s a chocolate cake, chocolate mousse and a chocolate waffle. Oh and hot cocoa-“  
  
“I _know_ what a chocolate mousse is, but-“  
  
“With lots of whipped cream! Drink it while it’s hot!”  
  
“Seriously Yoochun… _roses_?”  
  
“I knooow! Aren’t they nice?!”  
  
“I don’t care! I’m a _guy_!”  
  
“Who said it was for you?”  
  
“…”  
  
“Alright don’t be jealous. They _are_ for you.”  
  
“I’m _not_ jealous!”  
  
“It was to make you smile.”  
  
“…what?”  
  
“The roses.”  
  
“Is it me or you really don’t make any sense?”  
  
“You asked me once why I bought them the first time. It was to make you smile.”  
  
  
  
  
It’s late when they leave the coffee shop together that night. A gush of cold wind greets them as soon as they step outside, prompting Yoochun to turn up the collar of his jacket. Changmin doesn’t seem to mind the cold, or rather doesn’t seem to notice. They pass by the subway station without a word, walking side by side, their arms nearly touching.  
  
“In the end it could have been much worse, right?” Yoochun ventures after a while, in the kind of tone they probably use to announce someone they have some terminal disease but it’s okay, they still have about three months to live.  
  
Changmin doesn’t answer. He’s holding his bouquet of roses much like he did the first one, years ago – like a grocery bag. Tonight however he’s drunk. The flowers keep bumping against walls as he walks, though it’s hard to tell if he’s doing it on purpose. His expression has been closed and dark for the best part of the evening, and nothing Yoochun said could bring a smile on his face or ease the stiffness in his body.  
  
“I mean, she could have screamed at you” Yoochun goes on awkwardly “or cried. She didn’t cry, did she?”  
  
“She didn’t.”  
  
“So it went well.”  
  
“It did.”  
  
Changmin stops. They are in an empty street, in front of the illuminated window of a clothing store. The autumn breeze is blowing relentlessly, a sharp edge to it foretelling winter. The night sky is clear however, and in spite of the city lights they’d be able to spot the stars above if they just cared to look.  
  
“Yoochun…”  
  
“Mmh?”  
  
“I was going to marry her” Changmin says, his voice slurred but still soft.  
  
Yoochun looks at him for the first time since they left the coffee shop, just in time to see the young man rub his face with his hands, out of tiredness or to hide a stray tear.  
  
“It made me happy, you know” Changmin goes on in the same quiet tone, “to look at her… think… think I’d found the right person. I… It used to make me so happy...”  
  
“Changmin-“  
  
“And now it’s like…”  
  
The young man looks up, gaze lost in the darkness above as if searching for answers there.  
  
“Now… I think I never want to see her again” he adds in an even lower voice.  
  
Yoochun instinctively makes a move like to take his hand. He stops. He closes his fists tightly, a shadow briefly passing in his eyes.  
  
“It’s weird right?” Changmin continues, his face still tilted up. There’s a distinct crack in his voice now. “I was going to marry her. That’s what our lives… that’s what it was going to be. But now… now I’m hoping I’ll never meet her again. I don’t want to meet _anyone_ ever again.”  
  
This time Yoochun reaches out for him, but he barely touched his arm that the young man jerks away. The bouquet falls from his hand, roses spilling on the ground at their feet. Changmin takes a step back. He’s looking at Yoochun now but even the sheen of tears isn’t enough to alter the sudden hardness of his gaze – something both angry and defensive that makes Yoochun recoil instinctively.  
  
The silence doesn’t last – one heartbeat, two, three… staring at each other, stumbling over invisible lines that weren’t there before. A distance that changed.  
  
“I’m going home” Changmin announces at last and turns away abruptly, a bit unsteady on his feet.  
  
Yoochun doesn’t try to hold him back. He doesn’t move for long minutes, staring at the young man’s back until Changmin turns at the corner of the street. Then he crouches down and carefully picks the roses scattered on the ground, his gestures slow and methodical. The tip of his fingers brushes lightly against the roses stems, where the thorns were removed. His hands tighten around the bouquet once he gathered them all and he stays like this, eyes fixed sadly on the ruined flowers.  
  
“You have to smile” he says very softly, his voice blending in the night and cold wind, “no matter what…”  
  
  
~  
  
  
The plan was to pay attention to Yoochun. More precisely, it was to pay attention to those things about Yoochun that Changmin is _not_ supposed to pay attention to.  
  
The plan was to try and see with a fresh eye what he had never thought to question before – that Yoochun’s looks, words and gestures toward him could outline something else than friendship.  
  
It worked, to some extent.  
  
There are Yoochun’s looks, yes.  
  
The way Yoochun’s gaze lingers on him after he laughs, and the times when Changmin is absorbed in something and a presence starts weighing on the edge of his consciousness, and he realizes belatedly that Yoochun is staring. He can feel that gaze on him much more easily than before now. Much more often too, but he still can’t tell what Yoochun is thinking about whenever he stares like this. Once or twice he tried to guess but that proved too troubling, so Changmin stopped. Or rather, he tried to.  
  
Now it’s hard _not_ to imagine what Yoochun could be thinking. Changmin hasn’t forgotten the only time when he glimpsed the other’s feelings. He still remembers the bare emotions and needs making the older man’s voice strained and his eyes afire. It’s hard not to imagine what Yoochun could still be thinking even now when he stares like this. Or rather, maybe picturing it shouldn’t be so easy.  
  
Yoochun’s words too.  
  
Whether caring or teasing, the small sentences that Changmin used to brush off because they were just part of who Yoochun was to him… _for_ him. Tentative words of comfort that Yoochun never uses but with him, because Yoochun doesn’t comfort people but Changmin is the exception. Jokes, banter, flirting that used to mean nothing but that Changmin started viewing into a new light, and now he finds it impossible to act like it’s all just for fun.  
  
Now Changmin can’t tell anymore when Yoochun is serious and when he isn’t. Before he knows it, he’s replaying each of those sentences, turning them in his mind over and over again, wondering about their true meaning. He has known Yoochun for eight years… he knows him by heart, and it should be simple. But it’s not. It’s _hard_ , and that alone makes Changmin feel as if he’s missing the whole point of the relationship that means the most to him.  
  
And Yoochun’s gestures.  
  
Touches that seemed casual until Changmin started questioning what they really meant. Embraces that he can’t bring himself to initiate anymore. It used to be normal, _simple_ – Yoochun leaning on him when they watch a movie and it gets sad or scary, Yoochun taking his hand when one of them feels down, Yoochun messing with his hair and calling him a brat and laughing, _laughing_ , loud and bright, eyes crinkled with laughter as Changmin scowls and bats his hand away.  
  
Changmin doesn’t know anymore how he should respond to those. He doesn’t dare to start any of it in case Yoochun misunderstands, but he doesn’t want him to think something has changed. He tries to keep their relationship just as it used to be, but the slightest gesture now triggers a swarm of questions and doubts, and it’s getting hard to act unaffected.  
  
And yet it was all so easy before.  
  
It was so simple. It was _Yoochun_ … Changmin’s only friend, the one who knows him best and cares the most, the one who could fix anything with just a look, a word, a touch.   
  
The plan was to pay attention to all those, and it worked too well. Changmin is now _aware_ of them… aware of Yoochun like he never intended to be, and it’s too late already when he realizes it.  
  
Soon it’s not Yoochun’s looks, but his eyes instead – a deep brown that would seem dark and yet it shines, at times sparkling with mirth or mischief, at times soft and enveloping, _caring…_ caring like few people have ever cared for him. Eyes that see everything Changmin is. Eyes that accept it all.  
  
It’s not Yoochun’s words anymore… it’s his voice.  
  
It’s not Yoochun’s gestures now. It’s the warmth of his body and the spark of electricity whenever their skin touch.  
  
And that scares him.  
  
  
~  
  
  
November. Early evening. An empty street. Rain pouring down. Blurred surroundings and muffled sounds. From where they stand the world is blue and cold, and everything beyond the heavy curtain of rain doesn’t seem quite real. They found shelter under a roof overhang when the first icy raindrops turned into a downpour.  
  
There’s water everywhere… drumming on the pavement, dripping down from the roof, running in the gutter at their feet. They are drenched. Changmin’s wet hair looks darker than usual, plastered on his forehead and temples. The bottom of Yoochun’s pants is soaked. Their breaths come out in small white puffs.  
  
Their shelter is small. There’s no space to move, just enough for them not to touch. Even so their hands accidentally brushed twice, and both times their gazes met only to break away at once.  
  
They can’t even see the other side of the street. They can’t hear a sound except sometimes when a car passes by, and the continuous drumming of pouring rain is momentarily disrupted and rises, swells, roars before fading away in the distance and reverting to its steady thrumming. Rain takes everything… colors, sounds, and even time, until all dissolve into one same watercolor moment, one same blurred sensation – blue and frozen. Endless.  
  
“It’s funny…” Yoochun says quietly, like speaking to himself.  
  
“What is?” Changmin asks, sniffing. “Not the fact that I’m falling sick at this exact moment but there’s nothing to do but _wait_ and pray we won’t die of pneumonia, I hope.”  
  
“Right now, this…” Yoochun goes on as if he didn’t hear, “I dreamed of something like this, once.”  
  
For a short moment there’s nothing but the sound of rain, until Changmin answers, all traces of sarcasm gone from his tone.  
  
“What kind of dream?”  
  
Yoochun looks at him. Their gazes meet for the third time, and they don’t avert their eyes.  
  
They don’t.  
  
Rain falls and falls and drowns everything around, blind and loud, but in their eyes, the silence grows. Seconds pass and each one of them adds meanings to this moment – unclear, undefined, but meanings they won’t be able to deny happened. Barely distinct, underwater, silent, but _here_. And still, rain falls, like a promise that this moment is safe and shielded from both the past and future. Like to cover the sound of racing hearts.  
  
“A sad one” Yoochun says very softly, “the kind that you don’t realize is a dream. The kind that’s perfect until you wake up, and you realize it’ll never happen.”  
  
Changmin doesn’t avert his eyes even when Yoochun’s gaze starts clearing – the subtle shimmer of guarded emotions fissuring again at last after so long, revealing only the shadows of feelings that were kept locked away. An impression. A variation. A reality. Changmin doesn’t avert his eyes, once faced with Yoochun’s heart – the very truth he’s been searching for all those weeks. He doesn’t look away, and Yoochun doesn’t back out. Beyond them, there’s only rain.  
  
It takes strength to look into the truths that scare you. It takes courage to risk again what once cost you so much.  
  
It’s easier when they can _choose_ to do so… when the circumstances are right, when time seems to crack open just for them as if to say _‘now… now is the chance I’m giving you’_. Not a step forward. Not an actual change. A pause, rather… a moment to stop, look, see, and acknowledge that when nothing in the world seems real but them, when reality turns blue and time freezes, they become something different… something that holds other meanings.  
  
Changmin looks down. The tip of Yoochun’s fingers grazing against the back of his hand, a touch cold and ghostly. When he looks again, Yoochun is watching him. A lopsided smile. A shy attempt.  
  
“Your hand is always warm” Yoochun says, his voice barely audible above the thrumming of rain.  
  
Words that he used to disguise as jokes, and that Changmin used to hear as such. Words that bear the scars of a painful journey, still wrapped in both hesitations and faith… Words that Changmin might finally hear for what they are. He averts his eyes.  
  
“I don’t have dreams like yours” he says, staring ahead, past the curtain of rain… staring into the hazy frontiers of a world they can’t see. “And I think dreams shouldn’t make you sad.”  
  
He glances at Yoochun, his eyes serious, the strand of wet hair plastered on his temple drawing a funny little comma here.  
  
“Only reality should.”  
  
Changmin takes Yoochun’s hand and tugs him forward, stepping out of their hiding place.  
  
“It’s no use staying here” he adds, his tone not betraying anything. “We’ve no idea when it’ll stop and I’m not spending the night here.”  
  
Yoochun follows him like he has always done, into the pouring rain.  
  
  
~  
  
  
It’s too late when Changmin finally acknowledges how far things have gone.  
  
It’s too late to try and make sense of it, and too late to stop it. His thoughts go one way, his senses another, and his heart scatters newfound, unshaped feelings around – like a well-oiled mechanic would suddenly lose it. All unpredictable. It confuses him to the point that he wonders if this is all happening… if that is still _him_ , Changmin, and who is that guy who can’t think straight when he feels Yoochun’s eyes on him, who flees Yoochun’s touch when he used to need it?  
  
He doesn’t know what is true about himself anymore. He feels so lost that sometimes he wishes he could just leave far away like Yoochun did, and pretend nothing ever happened.  
  
But Changmin doesn’t run. He faces things.  
  
He faces himself, and one day takes a deep breath, and acknowledges that something has changed. Obviously. The only question is “what”, since he refuses to believe he could suddenly be attracted to Yoochun _that_ way. No. You don’t just start liking men out of nowhere. You don’t just _become_ gay, what’s more for one person only – the thought reassures him… it even makes him smile, so absurd it sounds.  
  
It’s just his mind getting carried ahead, he thinks a few days later in a department store, his eyes on Yoochun as the older man reviews video games, searching for one to buy for his brother. Changmin watches him silently. As odd as they are, the thoughts filling his head have become familiar of late.  
  
How Yoochun begged him to help him choose Christmas presents for his family even though he knows Changmin is utterly useless when it comes to picking presents, even more so when said present are to be creative. When Yoochun grabbed his wrist to drag him inside earlier, disregarding Changmin’s protests that he hates crowded places. Studying Yoochun’s face now – focused, frowning. The older man passes a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration, and Changmin unconsciously stores the image away in his memories.  
  
His gaze lowers to Yoochun’s eyes.  
  
To Yoochun’s lips.  
  
Three weeks ago, Changmin went as far as wondering whether he could – _theoretically_ , as a man who doesn’t like men – kiss Yoochun.  
  
Three weeks ago, the answer was a flat “no”. One week later, “no” shifted into “I don’t know”. Three days ago, Changmin looked attentively as Yoochun was asleep on his couch after an exhausting day, Chinese noodles and a boring action movie, and he found that if he tried hard to set aside the fact that this was _Yoochun_ and he was a _guy_ , then “yes”, maybe, those were lips he could kiss.  
  
That means nothing though, Changmin is thinking now.  
  
It would mean _something_ if he suddenly started wanting to kiss guys around, not just Yoochun, and not through complicated mental gymnastics meant to overlook that said lips are in fact a man’s.  
  
A staff approaches them at that exact moment, asking if they need help. Yoochun jumps on him at once and starts explaining what Yoowhan wants, sounding a tad desperate. Changmin’s eyes zero on the salesman’s lips.  
  
No.  
  
 _No_ , definitely, he thinks, relieved. Not in a thousand years.  
  
It’s ‘no’ as well for the man in front of them in the queue at the checkout, ‘no’ for the guy who bumps into them and makes Yoochun drop his packages which fall with an ominous breaking sound, ‘no’ again for the policeman who stares bemusedly as Yoochun explains that he wants to fill a case for a hit-and-run against the stranger who broke the hideous vase he bought for Jaejoong (who decided last week that he was going to master ikebana).  
  
During the next days, it’s ‘no’ for each of Changmin’s colleagues – the one who has three kids, the one who’s a sports addict, and the one who’s half-Filipino. It’s ‘no’ for both his neighbors, ‘no’ for the man owning the bookstore across the street, ‘no’ for Junsu (thank God), ‘no’ for the brother of Junsu’s girlfriend, ‘no’ for the driver of the bus he takes to go to see his mother, and ‘no’ for the drunk teenager who follows him all the way back home one evening begging for a cigarette.  
  
It’s ‘no’ for every man he sees during the next three weeks, and while it doesn’t solve Changmin’s problem and doesn’t make the situation any less confusing, he’s glad to be spared that at least.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Saturday afternoon, mid-January. They are both at Yoochun’s new place, a small flat that he started renting two weeks ago. He could have afforded a bigger one but he likes cramped spaces. He says they make him feel at home.  
  
Yoochun just woke up from his afternoon nap and he’s sitting on his unmade bed, still fully clothed and yawning irrepressibly. He stretches his arms above his head, rubs the sleep from his eyes, and grimaces when he notices that outside the sky is darkening already. Blame Skype conference calls at 3am with your new employer who happens to live on the other side of the world.  
  
Changmin is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the bed with Yoochun’s laptop, reading the next batch of emails the other will need to send for work and checking them for mistakes. On the floor next to him, there is a plate of chocolate cookies (for himself) and a full cup of coffee with milk (for Yoochun). He started the coffeemaker as soon as he heard him stir awake, and he knows better than to talk to Yoochun before the older man downed at least half the cup.  
  
For a long moment they stay in companionable silence. There’s no other sound than the light tapping of Changmin’s fingers on the keyboard, and the occasional hum from Yoochun, who dragged himself out of bed and on the floor next to the younger man. He’s reading mangas, his cup cradled in his left hand, smiles passing on his face as he reads. Their gazes haven’t crossed once since Yoochun woke up. Their arms are nearly touching.  
  
Nearly.  
  
Distance and closeness. Blurring lines. A ripple.  
  
“Yoochun…?”  
  
“Mmmh?”  
  
“Do you still love me?”  
  
Yoochun looks up from his book and finds Changmin’s clear eyes – intent, piercing, unsettling. He doesn’t look away. Dark eyes – searching, probing, guarded. The words they didn’t say and the questions they didn’t ask, outlining another kind of silence. Endless and bare, this one. Suspended. Immense. Spreading over them like a dark night sky, full of lights and secrets alike.  
  
Above, meteors cross and pass each other, and draw paths of fires.  
  
Amidst them, a lost star gathers lights, shedding layers of darkness as it approaches the inevitable conclusion of its course – luminous and perfect. Already too bright to be shunned and ignored.  
  
“I do.”  
  
Their gazes don’t break at once. Silence lingers for a handful of seconds, this time brimming with words they cannot find and questions without answers. Far. Unfamiliar. A new ground the two of them are not ready to tread upon just yet.  
  
Changmin is the first to avert his eyes. He nods. He says nothing. Yoochun reverts to his manga. They let seconds and minutes pass… they let time slowly bring them back to the shelter of habits, that intimate knowledge of each other that is both a blessing and a wall.  
  
They let hours and days pass, but neither of them moves or forgets. The silence is still there, unfolding deep down and rolling questions and feelings over and over again in its white waves, washing them away from all unnecessary disguises. There is only one truth.  
  
  
~  
  
  
And then there was a “yes”.  
  
That day Changmin was coming home feeling rather happy. It was going at well at work. The disjointed parts of his life were settling back into place. He felt he was looking ahead again. He had leftovers prepared by his mother in the fridge for tonight’s dinner, and nice plans for the week-end. The owner of the bookstore across the street bowed his head when he passed by and Changmin greeted him in the same fashion, glancing at the guy’s lips like he’d been doing reflexively for weeks now for every man he saw.  
  
It’s not before he was in the stairs leading to his apartment that Changmin realized that was a “yes” just now. He stopped dead in his tracks. He replayed the brief encounter. Pictured the young man’s lips again – rather full, rather red, and not unlike Yoochun’s. A _man_ ’s lips. And “yes”, lips he could kiss though it was still “no” just the day before, and Changmin sat down right where he was, in the stairs. He suddenly felt like crying.  
  
He suddenly felt terribly alone. It took several minutes before he finally pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t sleep that night. Instead Changmin spent hours looking into himself, and questioning everything he found there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY are we getting somewhere, are we??!! XD Ok fingers crossed here, I tried to make this as realistic as possible and I do hope it works... >< It was quite a challenge to write too, so I'm curious to know how it turns out in a reader's eye? Sorry for the one day delay too, please accept my apologies in the form of a gentle start of YooMin at last ;-)  
> Thank you for reading/commenting!


	14. Of lines and needs

Over the next days, other “yes” come up – slowly, so few he can still pass them off as exceptions. Until it becomes more and more and Changmin has to wonder if this is what madness feels like.  
  
Part of him is very aware of how absurd that entire situation is. He knows that he somehow brought this upon himself. He feels cheated… he feels like _he_ cheated _himself_ , which makes no sense to him because Changmin faces things, always. He isn’t one for denial.  
  
Part of him now really wishes he _could_ do denial.  
  
But that’s not who Changmin is, and instead of going backwards to find again the safe space where he stood before, he faces ahead. Questions without answers. Shifting realities. Changes. Facts that were true before, and others that are true now.  
  
A before, an after.  
  
Another line to cross, one he would never have seen if he hadn’t dug it up himself.  
  
A line once called ‘impossible’ but that now stands in front of him, terribly similar to all the ones he faced before… yet a line that might redefine everything if he dares take the jump.  
  
  
~  
  
  
“I need to ask you something.”  
  
“If it’s for another cookie, the answer is still no” Junsu says without looking at the young man sitting across him, bent over the hundreds of red and blue pearls spread on the low table between them, and not hiding his frustration.  
  
He couldn’t foresee that agreeing to help his girlfriend – who’s an elementary school teacher – for the school’s spring festival would turn out this way. Junsu is talented in many areas, but making dressing-up outfits for seven years old kids isn’t his forte. He told her so. She said she only needed help to sort a few pearls. He said “a few” would take _hours_. She smiled, she kissed him and said to call her when he was done. So Junsu lured Changmin into helping him with homemade cookies.  
  
Said cookies extinguished half an hour ago, and unsurprisingly so did Changmin’s motivation. He’s done nothing since, not concerned in the least by the thought of the poor kids he was depriving from the opportunity to wear a first-class pixie costume in front of their proud parents.  
  
“I’m serious Junsu” Changmin shakes his head, frowning “there’s something I need to ask you.”  
  
“As long as it doesn’t involve pearls…” Junsu mutters, stretching his arms above his head with a grimace.  
  
“You have to promise you won’t laugh.”  
  
This time Junsu looks up, paying more attention. Changmin has been tense lately… elusive, more withdrawn than usual. Junsu was even surprised he accepted to come today, cookies bribing aside.  
  
“I won’t laugh” he says solemnly. He has a bad feeling about this. The last time Changmin asked to “talk” was back when Jungmi and he just broke up, and Junsu can’t say he enjoyed it much.  
  
Changmin nods but says nothing, staring at the pearls on the table. He remains like this for so long that Junsu starts suspecting that he’s counting them, and he reaches across, waving his hand before the other’s eyes.  
  
“Earth to Changmin..?!”  
  
The young man looks up, blinking at him.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You said you wanted to tell me something.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“…so what is it?”  
  
Changmin eyes him warily, as if weighing the pros and cons.  
  
“…When we met your neighbor in the stairs…” he starts uneasily after another long silence, not quite looking at him.  
  
“…Yes?”  
  
Junsu barely knows his neighbor. He greets him occasionally and curses him thrice a week when the guy runs his washing machine at two in the morning. He has no idea what Changmin would have to do with him, besides cleaning freaks tendencies.  
  
“I thought I could kiss him.”  
  
Junsu stares.  
  
“You _what_?”  
  
“I thought I could kiss him.”  
  
So he heard that right. Something must have shown on his face because Changmin reddens, a panicked light briefly crossing his eyes as he continues, his voice unusually rushed.  
  
“Not… not just him. The waiter at the restaurant yesterday too… a clerk at the bank this morning, your girlfriend’s colleague earlier-“  
  
“ _Hyunsoo_???”  
  
“That stupid singer my sisters keep spazzing about” Changmin ignores the interruption, sounding increasingly upset, “the bookstore guy, and that taxi driver three days ago, and-“  
  
“And Yoochun” Junsu cuts him. _Finally_.  
  
“…And Yoochun” Changmin nods after a silence, a clear call for support in his eyes as he speaks faster and faster. “I’m not like that Junsu, I mean before, I was never- I don’t _get it_ , I don’t, I just-“  
  
“Okay okay, calm down” Junsu gets up, going over to Changmin’s side of the table, “for how long have you been staring at guys wondering if you could kiss them?”  
  
“It’s not funny” Changmin retorts at once, all defenses up.  
  
“I’m not making fun of you” Junsu assures him, though deep down part of him is amused at the roundabout ways Changmin ended up having to take to realize something that has been obvious to him for so long.  
  
However, and in spite of being only “an acquaintance” in Changmin’s book, Junsu knows him well. He knows that the young man isn’t here for someone to help him open his eyes on the truth. Changmin is _logical_ and nowhere near a coward. If his confusion and slight distress right now are anything to go by, he surely made all the inferences that could be made. He already knows where those lead him.  
  
He knows, Junsu thinks, but that doesn’t mean Changmin is ready to stand there just yet.  
  
“What did you want to ask me then?” he says gently, admittedly curious to know what’s going through Changmin’s head now that he finally questioned what Yoochun truly meant to him.  
  
Changmin sighs loudly and looks up, his gaze moving to the half-sorted pearls on the table.  
  
“Just… it’s stupid but… some people are straight, right?” he says, his face red till the tip of this ears, pointing to the heap of red pearls on his right then to the blue ones on his left. “And the rest are gays. That’s it. That’s _all_. Isn’t it?”  
  
Oh damn.  
  
On second thought, Junsu liked it better when Changmin was here brooding and rambling about Jungmi. All he had to do was nod every ten second, which was easy enough, comparatively.  
  
 _The things I do for you._  
  
“No that’s not all” Junsu starts, trying not to cringe as he points to the pile of unsorted pearls. “Some people… some of them are bi too… like…they like _both_ , right?”  
  
Changmin frowns, like trying hard to process something that’s being explained to him for the first time. Junsu inexplicably thinks of the lady in charge of sex education at school, and feels oddly sympathetic.  
  
“And some people are gays but live all their life without admitting it” he continues and grabs a handful of blue pearls, dropping them on the red pile – here goes his work of the past two hours. “They have kids and everything, but still, they are gays.”  
  
Changmin’s frown deepens, and it takes a while, but he nods.  
  
“And some people have always known they are gays” Junsu goes on, taking a few blue pearls and putting them with the red ones, “until someday they meet someone and realize they like… the other side too, you know.”  
  
Changmin opens his mouth as if to protest, but he doesn’t say anything, much to Junsu’s relief. He’s reaching the hard part and he really doesn’t want to have to debate with him over what is gay or straight or both, and where do babies come from.  
  
“And some people…” he continues, taking a single red pearl, “some people are convinced they are straight, until someday they meet someone too…”  
  
“But…”  
  
 _But_ , of course.  
  
Junsu holds back a sigh. He puts his red pearl with the blue ones, bracing himself for whatever Changmin is going to say. The young man _knows_ all this, however that whole situation is everything he dislikes – vague, confusing, foreign. Junsu can tell just looking at him that Changmin is resisting it as best as he can, which means a lot coming from someone as stubborn as him.  
  
“But it’s _Yoochun_ ” Changmin says at last, a tinge of helplessness in his voice.  
  
“It’s Yoochun…” Junsu repeats, surprised. “It’s what bothers you? That’s it’s _Yoochun_?”  
  
“Yes but-“  
  
“Not that stuff about the other guys?”  
  
“I don’t know Junsu, I _don’t_ , it-”  
  
“But why is it such a big deal for Yoochun only when-”  
  
“I said _I DON’T KNOW_!!”  
  
Without warning Changmin reaches out angrily, sweeping the pearls aside in one big gesture and sending them flying in all directions. Junsu freezes, stunned, and watches him stand up. He’s distantly aware that he needs to say something, _fast_ , when Changmin turns to him, glaring, breathing loud and – Junsu realizes belatedly – looking about to cry out of sheer frustration. It’s the first time he sees him so upset, and lost… so lost and clueless about what to do, and Junsu sort of hates himself for finding Changmin’s hesitations funny a mere minute ago.  
  
“Changmin…”  
  
“I need to go” his friend cuts him, fists clenched, a tremor in his voice, “I… I-I’ll call you later.”  
  
Junsu only has the time to glimpse an apology in his eyes before the young man turns away and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
The silence that follows is deafening.  
  
“You don’t _know_ …?” Junsu murmurs to himself after a while “…do you, really?”  
  
Junsu may be an acquaintance but he knows Changmin well, and Changmin is always sure. He always has a solution, he always knows the right choice to make. For him it’s simple… it has _always_ been simple. Not necessarily _easy_ , but simple.  
But then again, there is the fact that Yoochun is _not_ simple – has always been anything but simple as far as Changmin is concerned. Junsu noticed early. He understood a long time ago. And he should have told Changmin that sometimes, knowing doesn’t matter: _not knowing_ does. He should have told him that for him to be hesitating so much, it means there is something to hesitate about.  
  
Junsu should have reminded him that if it was impossible – truly impossible – then Changmin would not be so confused right now. Above all, he should have told him that you cannot be upset over feelings that aren’t here.  
  
He sighs, taking a cursory look around at the mess Changmin left behind, and gets down on his hands and knees for a round of pearls-hunting. He mentally adds that to the list of abuses he’ll need to get revenge for. Junsu has been keeping count of everything embarrassing or scary or bothersome or disgusting – and sometimes a little of all – that Changmin ended up making him do in the past fifteen years. He has yet to get payback for any of it, but he will. Someday. Not now. Probably never.  
  
Because Junsu may be an acquaintance, but he cares, and because he cares he understands that side of Changmin too. The one that often goes too far and seems to purposefully do the wrong thing at the wrong time. The one that will push all the red buttons just to trigger a response, just to see if others will be able to look beyond this, just because Changmin still hasn’t found any other way to be himself without exposing too much. That side of Changmin that is the truth of him, and that simply cannot settle for counterparts any less true than it.  
  
That side of Changmin that Yoochun takes up so well.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Changmin decides it needs to stop during a meeting at work, when he realizes that he’s been staring at a colleague – the sports addict – for who knows how long and that he has no idea what everyone was speaking about, but now they are all looking at him weirdly.  
  
It’s okay to be confused. It’s okay to let “what ifs” loose. It’s okay to question once-immutable facts. It’s NOT okay to stare at a man who spends three hours a day running on a treadmill and lifting weights wondering whether you would (theoretically) be attracted or not by beefed up biceps and pectorals. Changmin likes athletic girls. He doesn’t know about athletic guys. He knows that Yoochun considers sports a foreign, potentially dangerous, perfectly useless enterprise, and that it doesn’t bother him.  
  
He knows that Yoochun has nice hands, a broad back and full lips too.  
  
The above being the objective conclusion of long hours spent staring at Yoochun.  
  
The tiny part of Changmin that’s attempting denial struggles to stop that train of thought right here. The rest of him won’t cooperate. It presses forward, arguing that there’s a very subjective reason to that objective conclusion. Not to mention, he shouldn’t be staring in the first place.  
  
That day Changmin decides that it needs to stop, and to go back to the root of the problem. Where and how it all started.  
  
Yoochun.  
  
Not confusing questions about other guys and other lips, what is normal and what shouldn’t be, how much can someone change and is this all in his head or is there really a side of him that he didn’t know existed. The line now in front of him simply looks so much less frightening if it is _just_ about Yoochun, instead of half the rest of the world.  
  
Yoochun, and the day Yoochun said he loved him.  
  
All the years when Yoochun acted as if he didn’t.  
  
And lately, all the moments when Yoochun doesn’t bother pretending anymore.  
  
Yoochun, Changmin thinks as he leaves the office that evening… just _Yoochun_ , and that’s when past feelings surface without warning, of when Changmin was 11 and Yoochun was 12, and they were playing that game where lies weren’t allowed.  
  
They had to tell the truth. It was simple, naïve in its own way, but back then Changmin trusted that stranger more than anyone else… that guy who genuinely cared and made him laugh, who knew so little yet so much, who was always here and never got tired of him, never got angry, never let him down and shared his secrets like it was natural, and like he trusted him too.  
  
That hasn’t changed, Changmin thinks, his heart tightening.  
  
He still trusts Yoochun, blindly, and right now what he needs is something solid to hold onto. One truth… just _one_ true feeling amidst the chaos of contradictory emotions of the past weeks – ‘one truth’, Changmin calls it, because that’s what he’s always valued most, and he doesn’t realize that this time is different. It’s not truth that he wants.  
  
What Changmin needs now is certainty.  
  
Certainty as in the instinctive knowledge that something is right or wrong, that it can be or will never happen, ungraspable unless you just try it. Certainty you can’t find in causes or consequences, because it has no reason, no meaning: it doesn’t start or end anywhere. Certainty that’s a beginning and an end in itself. It just _is_ , or it isn’t. A burst of lights and blatancy, bright… blinding even.  
  
Changmin doesn’t know about meteors.  
  
He gets off the bus. He doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings at first, a familiar street in a familiar area, then he stops and takes a proper look, wondering if that’s always what happens with familiar things – you just live with them and you forget to _see_. He stops just a short moment, just to make sure he wants this. Maybe he needs to muster up a little courage too. Then Changmin resolutely starts walking toward Yoochun’s place.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Yoochun curses, squinting as he brings his laptop closer, struggling to understand Liam’s last e-mail as he switches back and forth between his inbox and Google Translate.  
  
“Yoochun…”  
  
“Just a minute.”                                                                                       
  
He types the words. Reads the translation. Goes back to the mail he received that’s apparently about a wrong order, deadlines and peacocks – that’s what Google says, and Google knows best.  
  
“I’m talking to you right now.”  
  
Yoochun’s hands type things. His eyes read things. His brain struggles to link the resulting crap together. The rest… he doesn’t know exactly what the rest of him is doing or what it is for, and where is he right now and is Changmin indeed behind him and did he hear that right just now?  
  
“What did you just say?” he asks, just to be sure.  
  
“I said, kiss me.”  
  
Yoochun’s hands keep typing. He’s staring at his computer like he’d be holding onto a lifeline. His mind is a mashed blank space of broken words where nothing connects together. His heart is hard as stone inside his chest, methodically shattering any remaining coherent thoughts with every beat, one after the other, again, overwhelming, way too strong and way too powerful and again and _again_ when that same heart is supposed to be broken and beaten and foolish, and that’s why Yoochun should never have trusted it in the first place because right now it’s betraying him and-  
  
He startles when something brushes against his shoulder.  
  
“Yoochun…”  
  
Turning around would be a very bad idea.  
  
Very bad indeed, but Yoochun’s body straightens up and his eyes avert from the computer. His hands stopped typing… his hands are motionless and cold yet sweaty, and he doesn’t know what to do with them. He doesn’t know where the lump in his throat comes from. He doesn’t know what to call the violent ache in his chest – disbelief or hope or fear, maybe all three, maybe just love, maybe nothing and everything at the same time or maybe “Changmin”. Just “Changmin”.  
  
Changmin’s eyes on him, his hand on Yoochun’s shoulder, and the apprehensive look on his face.  
  
“What?” Yoochun croaks.  
  
That’s not what he wanted to say. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. Something that’d stop his heart from racing like this, surely, because it’s going way too hard, a taut ball of intertwined feelings and fresh scars, as compact as a closed fist, ready to punch and unleash piled-up emotions in one devastating move. Yoochun can’t let it free because the half-exposed secrets in his heart are not right, he can’t let Changmin know because then he’d lose him, and Yoochun can’t lose him so his heart has to stop and be silent and subdued and-  
  
“Kiss me.”  
  
Changmin’s voice is shaking a little. He is nervous. He is sure. He is real too, and very close, and for some reason it’s incredibly hard to keep staring into his eyes and not lower his gaze to Changmin’s lips – the ones that said “kiss me”.  
  
“Why?” Yoochun manages to say after a few seconds. That’s still not what he wanted to say.  
  
Changmin withdraws his hand and Yoochun fights the dire need to take it back, hold it tight, keep him _here_ because burning through his fist-like heart, there’s the fear that this moment right now is not actually happening. Yoochun has spent so much time dreaming him. He has gone through every possible fantasy, every scenario one could imagine, and now… right _now_ this moment terribly feels fake.  
  
“Because I need to know” Changmin says then, not looking away in spite of his obvious nervousness. “It’s too confusing. I don’t know any more what I should do, and you’ve got to help me."  
  
 _Just a selfish brat_ – a voice in Yoochun’s head chips in.  
  
So damn sure and confident, and even when he isn’t, managing to make it look like he’s the one in control, demanding, and no Yoochun doesn’t mind because _yes_ , Yoochun loves it… Yoochun loves him when he’s like that, unwilling to admit weakness while insecurity shows in his every gesture and word. Yoochun loves him sure and insecure, loves him hesitant and selfish, loves his simplicity and his contradictions, and he gives up keeping control over his throbbing heart.  
  
“You want me to kiss you?” he asks softly, because he needs to make sure again before he loses himself in the eyes boring into his – wide and familiar and looking at him like they _see_ him for the very first time.  
  
“I need to know” Changmin repeats, his tone strained and curt. “If I feel nothing then I’ll know… I’ll know there’s nothing.”  
  
Harsh, but Yoochun knows better.  
  
Yoochun knows that defiant look in Changmin’s eyes, the one that means that he is well aware of how that just sounded. But that’s the truth, and Changmin always says the truth, except sometimes there are several ways to phrase it. Some are simply scarier than others.  
  
“What if you feel something?” Yoochun asks.  
  
Changmin looks away. By now Yoochun’s heart doesn’t feel as strained, slowly opening up to all that this moment could mean and gingerly getting ready to embrace it. He doesn’t realize he’s moving until one of his hands brushes against Changmin’s face.  
  
The right place where to lay a soft kiss, he remembers…  
  
His skin, his warmth, and the sound of his breath, and his mere existence… his presence, just this. Just like this. So simple and yet it’s everything – it fills him and the space around him, and the time around them, and it’s not that the world makes more sense this way, but if it could be the two of them, then nothing would need to make sense anymore.  
  
Changmin stiffens a little, but he doesn’t move away. Yoochun comes closer then, trying to meet his eyes until the young man finally looks at him again. Clear brown eyes, wide and familiar.  
  
Looking at him like they see him for the very first time.  
  
“You don’t have to…” Changmin starts nervously, “I mean, it’s nothing, I just-“  
  
“Shut up” Yoochun says quietly, leaning even closer. His thumb brushes against the young man’s cheek, an inch from his mouth, and he lowers his hand, putting it on Changmin’s arm. “Just for once in your life, you’d better say nothing.”  
  
Yoochun looks at his lips and thinks of kissing him. A tinge of want, the tang of need… the hundred tastes he found to this first kiss in the hundred times he dreamed it. Always, the awareness that he was trespassing the rules of reality – hovering close to forbidden thoughts, menacing yet thrilling, weaving tension into love and sharpening desire. This time is no different. This time feels so real it hurts. He closes his eyes.  
  
He hears a sharp intake of breath when he leans forward. The sound sends a rush of electricity through his body and his hand tightens around Changmin’s arm.  
  
 _Stay here_ … _stay here, and let me_ …  
  
His hand tightens around Changmin’s arm, and Changmin doesn’t pull away. Their lips meet somewhere on the way, in the breathless second it takes for lines to twist and disappear.  
  
Their lips meet, wiping away everything that reality was supposed to be, and Yoochun’s thoughts are gone. Yoochun himself somehow disappears and melts into that simple contact, the soft and impossible feel of their mouths touching.  
  
He becomes the explosion of sensations that follows – the sudden lightness of his heart, the sound of Changmin’s breath brushing past his cheek, the strength of his grip on the younger man’s arm, the rush of blood making his head spin and the ache in his chest and the burn at the corner of his eyes, the myriad of feelings brought forth by memories… the shyness of a first encounter, the way he says his name and the warmth of his hand, and his voice, his laughter and his smile.  
  
Yoochun parts his lips. He feels him freeze. He tightens his grip.  
  
He hears a soft sigh, and Yoochun doesn’t think as he slips his tongue inside Changmin’s mouth – the rough edge of his teeth before his first taste of him – sweet, sweeter than he expected and _oh_ , a lost echo stutters in his mind… _oh_ _so_ this _is how you feel, how your mouth tastes on mine_. Forbidden. Fantasized. Wrong, right, perfect, _his_ , and Changmin shifts against him and Yoochun raises his hand higher on his arm to prevent him from moving, instinctively pressing closer.  
  
He angles his head to deepen the kiss, running on instincts alone and giving in to the raw urge to _have_ him and keep Changmin where he belongs – _I love you_ , he told him… _I want you_ , _I want you and you have to let me_ … tasting his lips and kissing him again, claiming his mouth, claiming _him_ as the kiss turns messy, and rush and need, want, desire, frustration now… anger, pain and heartbreak, and loving him beyond all, always, wanting his smiles and tears and heart, wanting it all, the right and wrong, the hurt and warmth.  
  
Yoochun can no longer think. His body takes over, at last satisfying cravings he’s been repressing for so long. His lips greedily take more and more of Changmin’s mouth, a hand lost in the young man’s hair, tugging, touching… his fingers running hard against the back of his neck, his jaw, his skin and heat, needing to feel him and needing to feel more, wanting _him_ to feel it too.  
  
He doesn’t know if Changmin is kissing back. He doesn’t care. That’s the only chance he might ever get and Yoochun won’t let go of him now. He tried. He let him live and love, he was ready to spend his life looking from afar at a happiness that was all he wanted and nothing he could have, but now… _now_ he has him, he holds him for good, feels him for real, biting down on his lower lip, clutching at his sides and pushing him down, asking for more and taking more.  
  
He needs this, needs to know again and again the taste of his lips, the caress of his breath and the warmth of his skin, and more, so much more till it burns and heals and fills him up – all of him. Yoochun needs him and he wants him and abruptly he realizes that Changmin has gone very still.  
  
He breaks the kiss and pulls away, panting, panic soaring as he realizes too late just how far he went. Changmin’s swollen lips and disheveled state seem straight from one of Yoochun’s fantasies but there is the look on his face. The shock. A distant question, like trying to reconnect what Changmin thought he knew and what he just uncovered… a lot dazed and a little uncertain, and then a shadow that might very well be wariness or fear, and that hits Yoochun like a punch in the gut.  
  
He suddenly feels guilty, _dirty_ – the sickening impression that the worst of him has just been exposed, what he never wanted Changmin to find out, because _I love you_ is fine but _I want you_ isn’t.  
  
“Yoochun…”  
  
“Leave” he says, his voice so sharp it’s about to break. It’s breaking already. He needs to be alone.  
  
“But-“  
  
“LEAVE!!”  
  
He stands up. Changmin makes a move like to touch him and he jerks away. Yoochun wants him gone. He needs him gone before it falls apart.  
  
“ _GET OUT!_ ”  
  
He grabs his arm and harshly pulls him up. Changmin stumbles when he pushes him toward the door. Yoochun’s hands are shaking badly. He still marches forward and Changmin is too bewildered to do anything but retreat. His back hits the wall near the door and Yoochun thinks of kissing him again, of taking his lips, of the feel of his hair tangled in his fingers and the beautiful way Changmin watches the people he loves. He feels like screaming as reality and illusions merge again, suffocating and cruel because Changmin doesn’t love him and whatever Yoochun managed to get hold of just a moment before, he crushed it in his own hands.  
  
He opens the door and drags him out, and Changmin finally reacts but a second too late. He reaches out. He’s going to talk. He’s going to try and rationalize the mess that’s Yoochun’s emotions. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get how and why it hurts.  
  
“You-“  
  
“Don’t come again” Yoochun snarls and closes the door in his face. He locks it. He closes his eyes, and listens to Changmin’s voice – demanding, protesting, coaxing, angry and hurt and worried in turn, knocking insistently and telling him those cliché words of “I know you’re here” and “we need to talk”.  
  
It’s like a cheap romance movie, Yoochun thinks bitterly as Changmin alternates curses and pleas. His hands haven’t stopped shaking. He keeps replaying the shocked look in Changmin’s eyes. He wants to tell him that no, that’s not _it_ , there is more, he just wasn’t ready, he didn’t expect it and he could show him again… he could do it right, show him his heart slowly and gently bring him there too, carefully lead the way and let him see for himself that _this_ is what they were always meant to be. But the truth is, there was only that one chance, one that Yoochun wasn’t even supposed to get, and now it’s gone.  
  
That’s why Yoochun doesn’t like trying. That’s why he never does. Because he usually loses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I'M SORRY please don't kill me ;;; ....you can kill Yoochun instead, he's the lovesick idiot here *throws Chun at you all and runs far, far away* (and well, they KISSED right?)  
> Regarding the ending of this chapter and Yoochun's reaction, I don't want to expand too much on reasons why and such. I think I gave a lot of hints regarding the person he is... fantasies come true are not so easy to handle when you've run away from them for years ^^;;  
> Also Junsu giving The Talk to Min was funny to write and so I left it here, though it might not be so necessary to the story..? :D
> 
> Only two chapters left now, and one epilogue! Thank you all for reading/commenting, and above all congrats on finally reaching some actual YooMin interactions after 14 chapters~ ;-)


	15. Of mistakes and changes

Yoochun plays dead during the three weeks that follow The Kiss.  
  
He doesn’t answer his phone, doesn’t open the door, doesn’t reply emails, doesn’t show up at Jaejoong’s or Yoowhan’s or any of the places where he usually hangs out, and basically works on convincing the universe that he vanished into thin air.      
  
Changmin would like to say he’s worried. He’d like to say he understands. He’d like to say it doesn’t bother him. But Changmin is angry – sort of furious, actually. It doesn’t help at all that the only news he got about Yoochun during those three weeks was through Jaejoong, a phone call. The bad kind of call. More like a flow of nonsensical reproaches and accusations and to crown it all a “stop messing with him” that downgraded Changmin’s mood from “generally cranky” to “downright pissed”.  
  
So Yoochun is upset, alright. Fine. He gets it. However Changmin figures he’s not bad off himself in that department, and he could well do with some of the attention. _His_ life is a mess too. _His_ feelings. _His_ thoughts, _his_ beliefs, _his_ lines, everything is just a mess and he needs to talk it through except Yoochun is being an ass and he decided to pretend he doesn’t exist exactly when Changmin just really, really would like to maybe have an adult conversation with him and actually _solve_ stuff.  
  
Maybe he should behave like a fucking drama queen too and act childish about more or less everything so that others will deign having basic regards for his perfectly busted and wonderfully screwed up emotions.  
  
Hell, maybe he should go to Australia.  
  
Changmin doesn’t want to go to Australia.  
  
Changmin is miserable and confused, and he wants to see Yoochun. He will agree that maybe The Kiss was a bad idea. He will blame himself for it if need be. He will admit that it was most certainly selfish and not quite sane and untimely and rash – make it the worst idea of the century – but still, it’s _done_ , and Changmin just cannot go on pretending that it never happened.  
As it is, he has been able to think of little else those past days – when he wasn’t busy mentally choking Yoochun and his pathetic head-in-the-sand strategy. It’s only a way of speaking of course. Changmin doesn’t want to kill Yoochun. Just squeeze his neck a little tight, and if they are lucky that will force some of the idiocy out of his stupid brain.  
  
In truth, Changmin is extremely unhappy and a tad depressed, and he really wants to see Yoochun. He wants to hear his voice. He wants to see him laugh. He wants just the tiniest evidence that they are still alright. He wants to talk about The Kiss. He wants to say what he probably should have said _before_ , and what he would have told Yoochun _after_ if the other hadn’t freaked out on him.  
  
Changmin feels very much lost and alone, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.  
  
It’s like he took it upon himself to make a step forward hoping to close that newfound gap between Yoochun and him, and it was _scary_ , then Yoochun just had to bolt in the opposite direction. And now Changmin is left standing awkwardly on the other side of that line he just crossed, and there is no one waiting for him here. No one to tell him it was the right thing to do. And no way for him to go back like “oops sorry I didn’t mean to please ignore me here nothing happened and bye”.  
  
Changmin is angry, miserable, confused, lost and all in all very upset. Also increasingly aware of the inevitable. You don’t spend years hanging out with Yoochun without resigning yourself to a few facts – in the present case, the fact that when Yoochun crashes into a wall, he first acts like it killed him then madly runs away and eventually pretends nothing happened so nothing hurts. Right now he’s still at stage one, and Changmin knows he’d better catch him one way or another before Yoochun moves onto stage two and flies to the North pole.  
  
He definitely has to get a hold of him before stage three kicks in, and Yoochun starts pretending The Kiss didn’t happen.  
  
Because The Kiss happened indeed, and it did _things_ to Changmin. A lot of things, actually. It sort of blew up in his face but in a nice way, and he would be hard pressed to explain why kissing Yoochun had seemed such a strange idea mere weeks ago. Changmin keeps thinking about it. Yoochun’s lips. His hands and the way he held him. His voice and the blunt edge in it, low and rough and _different_. His eyes… his damn deep eyes and _that_ look in them – an echo of the day when Yoochun said “I love you” except that this time the pain was gone, and only love and need shone. Burned.  
  
It was Yoochun but not quite Yoochun, and then suddenly it wasn’t Yoochun at all. Suddenly there was that man who was anything but awkward, insecure or playful. There was that man whom Changmin did not know, a man who knew exactly where he stood and what he wanted, and who wasn’t scared of taking it. And it surprised him, it _did_ , but Changmin as well has stopped seeing Yoochun as a friend only.  
  
It took some time but he accepted it now. He also accepted that there was more to Yoochun than the older man wanted him to see.  
  
What Changmin needs now is to talk to him, but he knows Yoochun, and the chances of the older man coming to him first are ridiculously low. Make it zero. Make it negative. Changmin can either wait for a miracle, or try and drag him out of his cave himself, and he was never one to rely on miracles to save the day. Even if option 2 is a bit risky, since Changmin’s usual way of solving embroiled matters is to grab one end of the knot and shake hard hoping it will come undone.  
  
But in truth, Changmin simply really really wants to see Yoochun. It’s not about swallowing one’s pride. It’s not about forgiveness. It’s not even about making that first step (again) before it’s too late. Changmin just wants to see Yoochun, and hear his voice, and take his hand. He wants to tell him it’s okay. It’s fine. They are fine. They will be.  
  
It was all so complicated recently, but now it has become surprisingly simple.  
  
It has become possible.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Yoochun knows he made a mistake the moment he opens the door. He isn’t sure what makes him give in. Probably the very convincing note in Changmin’s voice when he says fine, whatever, he’s going to break it open on the count of three, “one”, “two”…  
  
“Three-“  
  
Yoochun yanks the door open. Next thing he knows, the funny feeling is back in his stomach. The pressure in his chest. The irrepressible urge to reach out, touch Changmin’s face, take his hands, hold him close, get rid of every gap between them – in a very physical way. Yoochun swallows hard. Kissing Changmin revealed a broad field of yet unexplored possibilities and sensations, and said possibilities are making it hard for him to focus on the priorities at hand. Meaning Changmin’s ‘you’re-so-dead-just-give-me-one-good-reason-not-to-kill-you-right-now’ face.  
  
Maybe that’s when Yoochun should apologize. Or lie and say he was abroad, old friends to visit, all that. Or tell him he looks good. Pissed, but very good. Deadly good. Maybe he should just shut up. Changmin’s eyes are throwing daggers at him and he finally gets the hint, and moves aside to let him in. He swallows again when the other’s arm brushes against his shoulder, and closes his eyes, repressing a sigh. He’s so screwed.  
  
Changmin steps inside and looks around at the wreckage that once was the living room. The disapproving expression on his face speaks volumes, and Yoochun knows he’ll have a hard time making up for this one. He sits down on the only chair in the room and looks at Changmin as the other methodically inspects the surrounding war zone. He doesn’t know what to tell him. There is a lot he _wants_ to tell him, but he figures none of it is appropriate.  
  
Things like, Yoochun is a mess when Changmin isn’t around. His life goes all the wrong ways when Changmin is not here. The past days were hell and he can’t fix it alone. He just keeps doing it all wrong. All wrong. He’s a failure, he knows, and he feels awful. And he’s sorry about the kiss but then again not really, because _that_ was heaven, except at the end. He did screw up toward the end.  
  
Changmin picks up an empty bottle of cheap liquor between his thumb and his index. He holds it in the air and wrinkles his nose, and throws a dark look his way. Yoochun hastily looks down and feigns deep interest in his feet. He hears a _thump_ when the bottle is dropped on the carpet and squeezes his eyes shut when Changmin yanks the curtains open, letting the bright midday light flow into the room, crudely revealing the evidence of Yoochun’s chaotic collapse the past weeks.  
  
“Well.”  
  
Changmin’s voice is icy cold. Yoochun tries to make himself very small on his chair. His head hurts badly and he fleetingly considers running to lock himself inside the bedroom to avoid confronting reality just yet. He isn’t ready to handle Changmin’s disappointment now on top of everything else.  
  
“Want some water?”  
  
Changmin’s voice may just have softened ever so slightly, and Yoochun nods without thinking. He’s still staring intently at his feet and he doesn’t move from his chair as the other goes to the kitchen. He waits till Changmin is gone to finally look up. And damn, it _is_ a mess.  
  
It looks a lot like his student room back during university after a two days party, only without the drunk bodies splayed on the floor. Jaejoong was right when he said that Yoochun needed to draw a clearer line between “coping” and “drinking”. He said if Yoochun really needed to drink to cope, maybe he could try tea instead – but not black tea of course. With honey in it, honey was good for coping. Many things didn’t have alcohol in it and were good for coping, he said, and Yoochun answered he didn’t want to cope, he wanted to die. So Jaejoong hung up on him.  
  
Yoochun glares at the carpeted floor. It didn’t take long for him to realize that throwing Changmin out like this that day had been a terrible move. But then he felt too ashamed to call him. A day passed, then two, and the more days passed, the harder it became. Then the situation went from bad to disastrous once again.  
  
That’s when Yoochun realizes that Changmin is taking a lot of time just for a glass of water.  
  
‘The kitchen’, he thinks then, and the vivid image of an open letter on the table flashes through his mind. Mindless fear shots up and he stands up abruptly and rushes to kitchen, not bothering that he’s on the verge of panic and overreacting and can matters actually get _worse_ now?  
  
Changmin looks up as soon as Yoochun barges in. He’s holding a glass of water in one hand, a letter in the other. He looks pale. He glances down at the letter, then at Yoochun again, like trying to link both together.  
  
“I didn’t do it” Yoochun blurts out.  
  
Changmin is staring like he doesn’t trust him, and Yoochun swallows hard. This time it has nothing to do with kissing or how good Changmin looks even when he’s pissed.  
  
“I didn’t do it” he says again for lack of a better defense, feeling a bit sick now, and his throbbing headache isn’t helping. “Changmin, I swear… I _swear_ I didn’t know about it…”  
  
Changmin stares incredulously for a moment more, before he seems to get a grip. He puts the glass of water on the table and faces him. His expression went back to anger, but it’s different now. Cold. Accusing. His fingers grip the sheet of paper tighter, with no consideration for the official Seoul Metropolitan Police logo glaring at the top of the letter.  
  
“It’s a convening notice” Changmin states coolly, “for questioning.”  
  
Now Yoochun feels more than just a bit sick. He feels nauseous and cold yet too hot, and he cannot blame the alcohol in his system this time around.  
  
“It says you’re involved in fraudulent activities” Changmin goes on in the same toneless voice, and Yoochun thought the situation was plainly disastrous before but it just took a turn for the worse.  
  
“I had no idea” he starts pleadingly, “Liam, he… he asked me to arrange those transfers and I thought it was part of the job, I swear I didn’t know about it, I _swear_!”  
  
Something passes in Changmin’s eyes, too fast for Yoochun to grasp it. His expression shifts slightly. He looks down at the paper once more, reading through it carefully. Yoochun has the words engraved into his mind. He kept repeating them over and over again the past days, and each sentence is like another punch from reality, a reminder of how _off_ he still is. It’s torture to watch Changmin read them, and it’s a small miracle he manages not to run away this time. That, or the weak sensation in his knees that warns him he wouldn’t be able to go far anyway.  
  
When Changmin looks up again, Yoochun can tell he took a decision. His eyes aren’t any less cold however. The anger is still here. The disapproval too.  
  
Changmin doesn’t run away. Changmin despises lies, cowardice and excuses, and Yoochun is once again reminded of why the mere thought of Changmin maybe feeling something _for_ _him_ is ridiculous. He’s not even sure why Changmin calls him a friend – if Changmin _still_ considers him a friend, and judging by his expression right now, nothing could be less sure.  
  
“You didn’t know?” he asks curtly.  
  
“I didn’t-“  
  
“You really had no idea about-“  
  
“ _No!_ ”  
  
“How could you _not_ know?” Changmin frowns, without an ounce of sympathy in his voice. It hurts more than Yoochun thought possible, because he can’t remember a time when Changmin actually did _not_ care. “You have been working with him for _months_ , you talked to him every day, obviously you should have noticed something was going on.”  
  
“Well I did _not_!” Yoochun bristles, fear and anger breaking through, and pain, because he _hates_ the way Changmin is looking at him right now, and he hates that he cannot make it go away. “I didn’t because I’m an _idiot_ , and yeah that’s the only reason why Liam picked me for that job! He needed a scapegoat and here I am, the perfect fool!”  
  
“Calm down, it-”  
  
“I won’t! I _trusted_ him! For the first time in my life I had a damn real job and I was doing well!” Yoochun keeps shouting as treacherous tears gather in his eyes, and the words pour out uncontrollably. “But of course _you_ don’t get it! It always works out for you! Always!!”  
  
“Yoochun-“  
  
“And when have you ever been in trouble anyway? Oh no, _you_ are better than that! _You_ can tell a scam when you see one, can’t you?? _You_ are not a pathetic loser and if I fucking failed again I can just blame myself and my retarded brain, _right_?!”  
  
He isn’t done but Changmin suddenly comes up to him. He’s furious, Yoochun realizes too late. His eyes are storming – plain anger, unaltered and cold – towering over him, his face scarily white.  
  
“Get out” he says, his voice surprisingly even, but his expression instinctively make Yoochun recoil.  
  
“Changmin…“  
  
“Go to Jaejoong. Take a walk. I don’t care, but don’t stay here.”  
  
“I-“  
  
“You were supposed to go meet them this morning” Changmin abruptly changes tactics, thrusting the police convocation in his face. “You didn’t go, did you?”  
  
Yoochun says nothing. His heart feels terribly heavy inside his chest – because it’s unfair, because he couldn’t, the apprehension, their questions, no answer, he did not know, he _didn’t_ , and who would believe that. He shakes his head. Changmin doesn’t add a word. His expression is enough, and Yoochun turns around. He leaves the apartment like in a dream, or rather a nightmare, wondering for the umpteenth time why on earth he can’t _change_ , and where did he go wrong.  
  
  
  
  
Changmin sighs deeply as soon as Yoochun is out of sight. He unsteadily takes a step back and leans against the table for support, eyes closed, struggling to regulate his breathing. His hands are shaking. His chest feels tight, pressured, painful, battling with conflicting emotions that he’s not used to deal with, and that just got the best of him. He can’t afford to sort them out right now, not with what he just found out.  
  
Yoochun messed up big time now, and that’s not a wall he crashed into. It’s a fucking mountain.  
  
Changmin rubs his face with his hands harshly, willing negative thoughts away. He looks around the kitchen, his eyes stopping on every sign that Yoochun slowly but truly broke down over the past few days. Again. Except that this time it goes beyond the usual issues with the society in general and adulthood in particular. It’s bad. Real bad.  
  
Changmin looks down at his shaky hands, and tightens them into fists. He obliges himself to take a few more deep breaths. The lump in his throat refuses to go away, and the anxiety fluttering in his chest is not likely to disappear any time soon. He thinks of the panicked look in Yoochun’s eyes, his heart tightening even more. Changmin saw the shame in them. The dread. Facing something way too big for him to handle alone – “ _reality”_ , strangers would say, strangers who don’t know Yoochun and the world Yoochun is struggling to live in. Changmin knows that world, and he knows very well it doesn’t quite exist. That’s why it is so frail. That’s why he likes it.  
  
He breathes in deeply once more and takes his phone in his pocket. He’s not sure there is a way to fix this, but someone needs to try.  
  
  
~  
  
  
“You look awful.”  
  
“You already said that.”  
  
“I did?”  
  
“Four times.”  
  
“How strange. Did you have tea like I told you?” Jaejoong asks, looking around expectantly like a magic teapot is about to summon itself. “Tea is good.”  
  
“Yeah I heard you the first hundred times” Yoochun mutters, playing with his chopsticks nervously and trying not to look too often on his left at the silent figure sitting there.  
  
It’s been just one day since Changmin and he argued. When Yoochun came back after three hours – the time to cool his head and regain a semblance of self-control – Changmin was gone but the apartment was spotless. The fridge was full, that cursed letter was nowhere in sight and there was a note on the table with an address asking to meet the next day for lunch.  
  
Yoochun texted him _‘sorry’_ and _‘thank you’_. He got no reply. He figured that was to be expected, and spent the first half of the night trying to decide if that lunch together would be the “I’m done with you, take care and bye” kind of meeting. He spent the other half talking to his pillow and rehearsing a “don’t do this” speech just in case. He finally fell asleep at six in the morning, while making believe that nothing had gone wrong with the kiss, the letter never happened, and it didn’t feel like his future had become a combination of several dead ends.  
  
So for various reasons, Yoochun had felt reassured at first when he saw that Changmin had asked Jaejoong to come to the restaurant too. Now he isn’t so sure. The younger man hasn’t said a word since he arrived, mostly poking at his food instead of eating it – which in itself is alarming – and blatantly avoiding looking at him. Yoochun knows that he has a lot of explaining and apologizing to do, but someone’s rambling is making it hard for him to start a serious conversation.  
  
Jaejoong decided last week that he was going to be vegan, and he’s being quite fervent about it.  
  
“Did you take milk with your tea?”  
  
“Yeah” Yoochun answers dully, not knowing and not caring what the question was.  
  
“You shouldn’t. Milk is bad” Jaejoong states enthusiastically, attacking his third bowl of peanuts. Everything else on the menu has meat, or eggs, or whatever it is that Jaejoong cannot eat anymore. Yoochun saw the look in his eyes when Changmin’s and his (carnivore) orders arrived though. He can safely say that Jaejoong’s vegan phase will be over by the end of next week.  
  
“You have no idea what they do to cows.”  
  
“I’m not sure that I want to know.”  
  
“That’s the problem!” Jaejoong shouts, attracting several customers’ eyes to their table. “You don’t _want_ to know, no one does! Because it’s _vicious_. Barbaric! Inhumane!”  
  
Yoochun glances at Changmin, who’s holding a slice of beef with his chopstick and staring blankly, like wondering if his ethics allow him to proceed. It’s a yes. He eats it, puts his chopsticks down, and turns to look at him for the first time since they sat down. Yoochun tries not to flinch. Years with Changmin haven’t made him immune to that stare yet, it seems.  
  
“When did Liam first ask you to handle those money transfers?”  
  
Buried anxiety shoots up at once, gripping Yoochun’s heart again. He pushes his plate away, suddenly not hungry at all.  
  
“Changmin-“  
  
“Just answer the question.”  
  
Changmin’s expression remains irritatingly unruffled. Yoochun frowns. He’d like to get angry at him but that didn’t turn out so well the last time. He’d rather have to deal with a doubtful Changmin than not have a Changmin to deal with at all.  
  
“About six months ago, I think.”  
  
“So you had been working with him for two months already, right?”  
  
“Something like that…”  
  
Changmin nods. He still doesn’t look away, and Yoochun is having a hard time not shifting in his seat.  
  
“What did he say the first time? About the transfer, what was the reason?”  
  
“He needed funds for here…” Yoochun starts slowly, hating every bit of that conversation. “He said that we had to start somewhere.”  
  
“And someone else withdrew all of it?”  
  
“Changmin-“  
  
“Did they or did they not?”  
  
“They did” Yoochun answers curtly, “Liam said one of his contacts would take it and use the cash to do market research in South Korea, or something like that. I had to give them the account numbers.”  
  
“Do you know who it was?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“But you were in charge of the transaction.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“The entire transfer was under your responsibility?”  
  
“ _Yes_ , and _yes_ I’ve been an idiot, and _no_ I had no idea” Yoochun snaps, “seriously if you made me come here for interrogation, then just say you don’t trust me and be done with it!”  
  
“I was just asking” Changmin answers, unfazed.  
  
He goes back to his dish as if nothing happened. Yoochun looks down at his own plate, thinking he might be sick. Jaejoong is looking back and forth between the two of them, his eyes the size of saucers. No one tries to stop him when he tentatively starts on the topic of poultry rearing, and he quickly warms up to his topic. Out of the corner of his eye, Yoochun sees the faces of some of the customers around grow pale. One girl pushes away her chicken pasta when Jaejoong gets to the bloody core of it and goes for particularly detailed descriptions.  
  
On Yoochun’s left, Changmin is back to being silent, and all the nice words he prepared about being sorry and wanting to fix it are falling apart in Yoochun’s mind.  
  
Yoochun doesn’t know how to fix it. He knows saying ‘sorry’ won’t be enough. He doesn’t understand what Changmin is trying to do now. He looks at the young man’s hand on the table and dreams that he’s brave enough to take it and hold on tight. He dreams. That’s all Yoochun could ever do – dream, and eventually have to admit that dreaming is not enough, and sometimes clumsily reach for what he wants. Sometimes.  
  
It takes a while but he finally manages to catch Changmin’s eye. Yoochun goes for a tentative smile. There’s nothing at first, not the slightest change in Changmin’s closed expression – a handful of vertiginous seconds when Yoochun battles with the fear that he might have lost him, and suddenly the hard lines on the young man’s face soften. Yoochun wouldn’t even be able to name it. It’s not feelings. It’s not comfort. It’s the gentle glow that briefly lights up Changmin’s eyes and that he usually keeps for Yoochun only, deeply rooted and true. Just that.  
  
It’s gone the next moment, and Changmin reverts to his dish.  
  
Yoochun’s eyes go back to Changmin’s hand.  
  
He’s still here, he thinks, the tight knot in his chest loosening for the first time in days. Still here, and it’ll be alright.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Today Changmin called Yoochun four times; the first to ask how Liam requested those transfers – was it by phone? email? can it be tracked? does he have proof? –, the second to know if Yoochun used some of that money himself, and the third to tell him to stop hanging up on him. The fourth time was just to listen to his voice and decide if it was leaning more toward resigned self-bashing or panicked denial. Changmin couldn’t pick one, and knew they still had a long way to go. There are only five days left.  
  
He couldn’t focus at work today. Changmin spent the day spacing out, staring blankly at his mail inbox, startling whenever someone came close and ignoring phone calls that he hoped weren’t important, until his manager told him he didn’t look so good and he’d better go home.  
  
Indeed Changmin doesn’t sleep much. He doesn’t eat well. The anxiety is still here, as he predicted. The lump in his throat and the conflicting feelings, and that painful twinge in his heart whenever he remembers the helpless look in Yoochun’s eyes – all of it is still here.  
  
Today, when Changmin called Yoochun the fourth time, he told him it was alright. It wasn’t such a big deal. It wasn’t so serious, it was alright, it would be fine. Yoochun calmed down at last and Changmin hung up after a two hours call, utterly drained and silently praying that he hadn’t lied to him for the first time in his life.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Yoochun is bored.  
  
He emptied two packs of rice crackers. He played games on his phone until it ran out of battery. He read the promotional flyer for the new Japanese restaurant down the street. He read it again. He read it enough times to know by heart the price and composition of all 14 sushi sets. He tried a dozen different positions on the couch. He even considered paying attention to the sappy drama unraveling on TV.  
  
“Changmin…”  
  
“Sshh.”  
  
“She’s gonna leave him.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“She doesn’t care anymore. She likes the bad boy now.”  
  
“…”  
  
“They always end up with the bad boy.”  
  
“…”  
  
“People watching that crap are dreamy teens and bored housewives, and they want it to be the bad boy.”  
  
“…”  
  
“Which one are you? The dreamy teen or the bored housewife?”  
  
The younger man throws a cushion in his general direction, eyes riveted on the TV screen.  
  
“You used to hate that stuff” Yoochun comments, catching the cushion before it falls amidst the beers and snacks spread on the low table. When it comes to throwing things Changmin has a better aim than Jaejoong, but only by a small margin.  
  
“Shut up or I’m throwing you out.”  
  
“It’s _my_ place, you can’t throw me out.”  
  
“I’m hungry.”  
  
“For real now??”  
  
Changmin doesn’t answer and Yoochun sighs deeply to signify he doesn’t approve, standing from the couch all the same. He drags his feet to the kitchen and opens the fridge. There are beers, pizzas, a couple “homemade” dishes – courtesy of Jaejoong’s mom –, three packs of instant soup and a compartment full of untouched vegetables – bought by Changmin when he showed up four days ago and dealt with the mess that was the apartment. A foreseeable screaming contest starts on the TV next door but Yoochun ignores it, focusing on the fridge’s contents.  
  
Changmin likes chocolate, he thinks out of habit, but there is none here. He also likes Italian, Thai, Western, Japanese, Chinese, Korean… well. He isn’t too regarding when it comes to food in general but isn’t too fond of warmed up industrial dishes, and Yoochun loves Jaejoong’s mom but he’s also lucid about her cooking skills. He seriously doubts its homemade quality.  
  
11 is quite good at cooking, for one. He sometimes cooks for his sisters. He doesn’t mind cleaning up, except dusting. 11 hates dusting. He doesn’t like evening dramas but watches them anyway. He was part of a theatre group in high school and that’s where he met his first girlfriend. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight. He doesn’t believe in UFOs. He doesn’t believe in horoscopes. If 11 has a son someday, he wants to name him after his grandfather. He loves snow and peppermint sweets, and he absolutely abhors soccer. And he doesn’t like men. He 100% doesn’t. Make it 200%.  
  
Changmin asked to kiss him just a few weeks ago.  
  
Changmin hasn’t bought peppermint sweets in ages but those days he’s addicted to caramel toffees. He sort of fell in love with Jungmi the moment he saw her. He can be soccer-tolerant when it comes to Junsu. He still loves snow and he still hates dusting, but Yoochun caught him reading the horoscope several times already. Changmin watches evening dramas and well, it doesn’t quite look like he doesn’t like it. Changmin is no longer 11, just like Yoochun is no longer 12.  
  
They have changed.  
  
A high-pitched shriek rises from the room next door and Yoochun snaps out of his contemplation of the fridge’s unappealing contents, picking a pizza at random. He puts it in the microwave, aware of dramatic sobbing and heart wrenching violins wailing in the background. He pictures Changmin sitting straight on the couch, wide-eyed and anxious, engrossed in that crappy show. Yoochun smiles.  
  
He loves him.  
  
11 or Changmin, or whatever facets of him he has yet to uncover, he just loves him.  
  
He comes back to the living room, makes space for the pizza on the low table, and sits back on the couch. Closer to Changmin than before. Their thighs nearly touching, their shoulders an inch away –the exact gap needed to summon again that physical tension… the newfound _density_ that lingers between them since they kissed, and that neither of them dares to disturb. Yoochun stares at the TV screen without really watching it. He’s replaying it again.  
  
The first hesitant contact of their lips, so farfetched, so improbable. What came after.  
  
Yoochun closes his eyes to remember better. There was want, there was need. There was yearning so deep that he had gotten used to live with it, like it was a part of him. He would never have him, and suddenly Changmin was here, and he had him. He actually _had_ him. Overturning the world as he saw it, shattering a crystal wall and there, on the other side, a dream that was no longer, because reality had already weaved gravity into it.  
  
So much had changed already, and he didn’t see it happen. It’s still changing.  
  
It’s changing fast.  
  
Yoochun is distantly aware that it is vanishing – the one dream he refused to let go of but the one he refused to call “hope”, the one he wouldn’t fight for but would exist through. That flawless image is fading fast, evanescent already, losing its strength swiftly and painlessly. It’s receding, leaving space for another future to grow.  
  
One that has “hope” in it, and one that Yoochun could make happen and live for.  
  
  
  
  
The evening drama has long ended when Changmin turns the TV off at last. He only still had it on for the sake of keeping some background noise, trying to prevent himself from thinking too much. It didn’t work, and truth is, Yoochun didn’t make it easier. But then again, when did Yoochun _ever_ make it easier?  
  
Changmin squirms, uncomfortably aware of the body leaning heavily against his and feeling more than a little too hot now, after over one hour of incessant abuses to his personal space. He had to endure first the furtive glances, then the not-so-inconspicuous efforts at sitting closer and closer and even a few daring touches, until Yoochun apparently thought it a good idea to literally fall asleep on him. Changmin has been doing his best since not to think, not to move, and not to breathe too often.  
  
Now without the TV noise, it feels eerily quiet. Changmin’s gaze travels around the room, stopping on the broken fan next to the desk, and the towering pile of bottles and boxes that Yoochun has yet to drop in the recyclable bin outside. He should be annoyed. He normally would. He’d like to be – being annoyed at Yoochun is a perfectly customary and manageable feeling, and Changmin wouldn’t be against customary and manageable for once.  
  
He surrenders eventually, and ventures a glance down at Yoochun’s face.  
  
He swallows as something inside his chest shifts softly – like a piece of his heart got dislodged and is trying to find its right place again. Something intimate, sensitive and stubborn all at once. And now that he gave in, Changmin finds himself unable to look away.   
  
Over the past months, he struggled to tame that feeling he called “awareness” around Yoochun – the older man’s looks, his voice, his gestures, his presence near and what it meant to him. But “awareness” seems a much crippled word to describe what he feels now, after Yoochun kissed him… right now, with the whole length of the other man’s body leaning against his own, his hair brushing against his face, their legs touching, a hand on Changmin’s thigh. That soft something tugs at his heart again, harder.  
  
He doesn’t really mind, not anymore.  
  
Yoochun seemed better today. Changmin rounded up on him again with the usual questions about Liam, circumstances, evidence and facts, and this time he got a reassuring reaction. Yoochun shot him a glare, reluctantly answered the questions and went to sulk in the bathroom. He didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights, didn’t stumble over his explanations, and provided actual answers instead of a string of overly defensive “I didn’t do it”.  
  
There are two days left, and Changmin can finally spare some time for other thoughts.  
  
He raises a hand tentatively, not quite aware himself of what he’s doing until his fingers brush against Yoochun’s hair. His heart speeds up. It’s still so quiet… it’s late, it’s just the two of them, and one by one, Changmin hesitantly frees sensations that are still so new that he barely dares to acknowledge what they do to him. Yoochun’s body is warm against his. His arm pressed fully against Changmin’s bare one… their legs touching, an open hand resting lightly on Changmin’s thigh, soft hair brushing against his chin – all small touches, nothing he hasn’t felt before, except that now his skin prickles wherever it touches Yoochun’s.  
  
Cautiously, Changmin runs his fingers through his hair. The urge to touch. The vague sentiment that it may answer some questions. And he doesn’t want to, he tries to stop it, but his thoughts shift to Jungmi and how it felt to be with her. The feelings they shared. The love that was theirs.  
  
It’s not the same with Yoochun… Changmin isn’t sure whether he _can_ compare or not, he feels guilty about it but he can’t help it – it’s not the same. He loved Jungmi, and right now, the way he feels and that soft curl in his heart, it’s different. He’s still staring at Yoochun’s face, still fighting an overwhelming onslaught of foreign sensations, and yes… yes, that’s exactly it. _Foreign_. It’s a friend’s face he’s staring at, it’s a man’s body he’s feeling now, and every thought and every touch are unfamiliar and hard to apprehend.  
  
But he can’t deny that he’s thinking them, _feeling_ them, and Changmin doesn’t even try. He wonders if he could get used to it. He leans a bit toward Yoochun, just because, and the older man unconsciously snuggles closer to him, a soft sigh escaping his mouth. Changmin’s hand stills on top of Yoochun’s head, but he doesn’t remove it. He doesn’t move away.  
  
It’s not only because he wants to stay, but also because Yoochun needs him here.  
  
Yoochun needs him. He always has.  
  
Changmin starts stroking Yoochun’s hair again, his gaze softening. There were countless times… countless occurrences when Yoochun needed him – because he was depressed or bored, because no one wanted to go to the movies with him, because he didn’t know how to fill his income tax return, because it was Yoochun and Changmin was supposed to be here for him. Always.  
  
Yoochun needs him, and once again, Changmin thinks of Jungmi. He wonders if she needed him.  
  
He wonders if he needed her.  
  
But whether Changmin needs Yoochun or not, he doesn’t even think of asking himself.  
  
He’s smiling. His fingers lowers to Yoochun’s face, and he lets them run lightly on the older man’s forehead and temples, following the outlines of his face. Slowly. Carefully. Changmin isn’t thinking of Jungmi anymore, and the foreign thoughts from earlier are gone. The tip of his fingers brush past the corner of Yoochun’s eye and the older man frowns in his sleep, burying his face in Changmin’s T-shirt to escape the intrusion. Changmin’s smile widens – fond, full of the deeply anchored affection that he gave up finding a name for.  
  
He isn’t thinking, comparing, wondering. He’s with Yoochun, and everything’s alright.  
  
Every piece of his heart is right where it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist and added some dramaaaa~~ because I can XD  
> I'm trying not to make it too angsty though, I believe those 2 have reached a point in their relationship where their need of each other goes beyond not just reality & obstacles, but also their own struggles in labeling that same relationship. Like whatever happens to them or between them, they'll naturally revert back to their equilibrium, the usual pattern they built over the years - the talks, video games, hot chocolate, magnanimous and such ^^
> 
> Stopping here before I start rambling: one more chapter + epilogue left, it's ending soon now, thank you again for reading/commenting <3


	16. Of truth and meteors

The day arrives at last but Yoochun doesn’t smell anything fishy when Changmin asks if he can drive him to his health insurer office, because he has an appointment there and it’s hell to go using public transportation. It’s not unusual, given that Changmin has yet to buy a car and has no qualms whatsoever about using Yoochun as his personal taxi meanwhile. Yoochun rather likes that.  
  
He is in a very good mood that morning, singing along to the latest pop songs blasting from the car radio and happily messing up the rap bits while Changmin tries hard to keep a straight face as he gives him directions. It’s still early and the summer heat has yet to hit Seoul full force. It might rain later, the radio informed them between two cheerful tunes, but for now the bright blue sky above gives them little reason to worry.  
  
“Pull over here” Changmin says loud enough to cover the sound of the music after a forty minutes’ drive, pointing to an empty parking space.  
  
Yoochun complies and stops the engine. He turns to Changmin, and sees that the young man’s face is suddenly serious again and unusually apologetic. A tad guilty even. Yoochun’s smile falters.  
  
“What?” he asks, already suspicious.  
  
Changmin wordlessly points outside, to the building on the other side of the road, and Yoochun spots belatedly the Seoul Metropolitan Police sign and the several policemen pacing on the sidewalk. He stiffens, his hands gripping the stirring wheel tight, and finds his voice again after a few seconds.  
  
“Changmin-“  
  
“They arranged a new appointment” the young man cuts him, his voice calm and even. “Officer Ji Dong-ho is waiting for you at 9, just ask after him at the front desk.”  
  
Yoochun doesn’t answer. He did a great job the past days at pretending that there would be no consequences to face, and without Changmin’s repeated questions he might even have managed to erase the whole issue with Liam from his mind entirely, but here it is. He feels sick, he feels… damn… he feels queasy and too hot, his heart started racing and he’s staring at his hands like they are not his own, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so tight, his mouth dry and battling nausea because he can’t, he didn’t do it, he didn’t, he didn’t-  
  
“Yoochun.”  
  
A hand on his shoulder. He turns his head and finds Changmin’s eyes, and stares into them like he’s drowning and there’s nothing else around that he can hold onto. Changmin smiles reassuringly, though he does look a little worried.  
  
“It’s alright” the young man murmurs, his voice unusually gentle, “you know what to tell them.”  
  
“I don’t, I…” Yoochun swallows, looking into his eyes, holding onto that gaze like he’ll crumble the moment he stops looking and struggling against rising panic. “I didn’t come when they asked, I don’t know what to tell them, they’re going… they think I knew, they think I did it and-“  
  
“We don’t know what they think” Changmin interrupts him once more, shifting in his seat to face him and leaning closer, “and you know what to tell them.”  
  
He looks more confident now, and Yoochun unconsciously relaxes.  
  
“Honestly now” the young man continues, an amused light briefly crossing his eyes, “can you think of _one_ question they could come up with that I haven’t asked you a dozen times already?”  
  
Yoochun opens his mouth. He closes it. He replays the past days – Changmin’s incessant questioning, relentlessly probing at every detail, turning over and over again the same pieces of information and approaching them from every possible angle until Yoochun could instantly tell what he was getting at. It upset him. It made him wonder if Changmin didn’t trust him. It made feel insecure, as if this was another kind of test – one that would settle whether Changmin would stand by him or not – and he was failing it.  
  
Something must have shown on his face, because Changmin pulls away a little, raising his eyebrows and looking at him pointedly.  
  
“Did you really believe I considered even for one second that _you_ could be involved in fraud?” he asks, feigning being hurt.  
  
“Well…”  
  
“Listen” Changmin continues without stopping, suddenly serious again, “you _know_ what to tell them. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t make any profit from it yourself. They can’t accuse you of anything serious.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“The only thing you have to do is go in there and answer their questions. And _please_ try not to look like you’ve got a stack of stolen cash hidden under your bed.”  
  
Concern is gone from Changmin’s eyes, replaced by an encouraging light. Yoochun is still staring, drawing from them the strength and confidence he lacks. That steady gaze calms his frayed nerves. He nods after a while, and Changmin squeezes his shoulder lightly.  
  
“Beside I’m not giving you a choice” he warns, “I lied to them, and it’d better not be for nothing.”  
  
“You _lied_ to the _police_?”  
  
“I told them you couldn’t go last week because you were sick” Changmin removes his hand from his shoulder and grimaces, as if thinking of the lie is actually painful. He draws a neatly folded sheet of paper from his pocket.  
  
“Jaejoong managed to convince his dad to make a medical certificate for you, so if anyone asks, you were down with a severe case of mononucleosis the past two weeks.”  
  
Changmin gives him a prolonged look, studying his face and allowing a small smile to rise to his lips.  
  
“Actually if you could keep that sickly look while you’re in there, it’d be perfect. Very convincing. Just try not to throw up on Officer Ji’s shoes.”  
  
“Hey…!” Yoochun protests weakly and hits his arm. He takes the paper from Changmin’s hand, not quite daring to imagine how much this must have meant for the young man to go this far against his own rules.  
  
“Thank you” he mutters, averting his eyes as guilt washes over him again for causing so much trouble once more, not to mention having Changmin and Jaejoong’s family involved because of his own incapacity to face real life.  
  
“It’s fine” he hears Changmin say, though Yoochun knows that it isn’t, not really. Even if Changmin probably sincerely believes so.  
  
All that’s left to do now is grow a backbone and get out of that car, and as usual, Yoochun wavers once faced with the obstacle at hand. Seconds tick away. He isn’t moving, gripping the paper in his hand, staring ahead blankly. The same worn fears rising in a ceaseless circle as he quenches them one after the other and back to the beginning again. The same void questions. The same parched doubts. A lump in his throat. A heavy weight in his chest, where his heart is supposed to be.  
  
“Yoochun.”  
  
He turns his head. Changmin is still staring at him. The teasing smile is gone, replaced by a much deeper look, firm and safe, effortlessly piercing through Yoochun’s useless fears and promising that here… here it’s alright, it’s okay, he trusts him. _Changmin_ trusts him, and damn, Yoochun thinks, his heartbeat speeding up, if _that_ isn’t enough then he can just go throw himself from the nearest bridge because he’s indeed beyond saving.  
  
Then Changmin leans forward, and kisses him.  
  
One quick peck on the lips, successfully wiping away every coherent thought from Yoochun’s mind.  
  
It takes several seconds before he remembers how to move and slowly brings his fingers to his lips, staring at Changmin with wide eyes, struggling to comprehend what just happened. The young man already turned away from him but judging by the small portion of his face that Yoochun manages to see, it’s a fiery shade of red.  
  
“You’re going to be late” Changmin states, his voice carefully indifferent. “Go now. I’m waiting here.”  
  
Yoochun nods without thinking. He opens the door and exits the car in a daze, and all thoughts of crumbling in front of menacing policemen and going to jail and bringing shame upon his family for the next ten generations fall at the back of his mind.  
  
Everything is utterly pointless, compared to the way his lips tingle.  
  
There’s nearly a spring in his step as Yoochun crosses the road and enters the police station. All he can think of now is being done with Officer Ji as fast as possible because Changmin said he’d be waiting, and really… really now, his pounding heart tells him, they have both been waiting for way too long.  
  
  
  
  
“How did it go?”  
  
The question is brisk, betraying anxiety in spite of previous reassurances. Changmin doesn’t look his way when Yoochun gets back into the car two hours later and sits behind the steering wheel. The young man is resolutely staring ahead, his shoulders stiff and his expression closed – as often when he’s uncomfortable and tries to hide it.  
  
“Fine…”  
  
Yoochun is looking ahead as well, far more relaxed now but not quite sure where to start, still a little nervous though for entirely different reasons. He wipes his palms on his knees reflexively as he summarizes the meeting in a few sentences, briefly remembering how insurmountable it had felt just two hours ago.  
  
“It seems Liam had set up a similar system in several places. They have statements from people he framed like me in four other countries. They wanted to check if mine matched.”  
  
Changmin nods but doesn’t comment, though the tension in his back and shoulders visibly lessens.  
  
“Officer Ji said I could be part of the case against him and ask for compensation” Yoochun continues after a short silence.  
  
“And he asked if I was feeling alright.”  
  
He pauses, looking at Changmin out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“His daughter caught mononucleosis last year.”  
  
Changmin shifts in his seat.  
  
“He told me to drink cranberry juice.”  
  
This time a smile breaks through Changmin’s tense expression.  
  
“You know, you’re incredibly lucky” he says, shaking his head and looking vaguely annoyed in spite of the smile tugging at his lips. “So much it’s actually disgusting.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Yoochun grins, but Changmin averted his eyes already, seemingly absorbed in contemplating an eyeliner advertisement on a building on his side of the street. All of a sudden the car feels much too small. It’s as if the closure of that last disturbance brought down an invisible wall with it, and now they are back to what really matters… as if the reason why they are both here was nothing more than another pretext, hiding the true nature of whatever keeps bringing them together. Except it’s not hidden anymore, and Yoochun wonders absently if Changmin’s lips too are still tingling.  
  
Two kisses, he thinks.  
  
Two kisses, two bouquets of roses, two “I love you” and one “I do” – clumsy, unplanned, secret – random dots scattered across their lives and tying them in improbable places.  
  
A phone number, questions and truth, a long summer and a tearful smile. A game no more.  
  
Fantasies. Reality. Lines, then lines no more.  
  
“So…” Yoochun ventures at last nervously, his voice rough and scratching the thick silence inside the car. “Where are we going to now?”  
  
“Wherever you want to go” Changmin answers evenly, his eyes still on the eyeliner ad. “I took the day off. Just in case.”  
  
Something passes in Yoochun’s eyes but he says nothing. He nods and starts the engine. He pretends not to notice when Changmin ventures another look his way.  
  
They have waited long enough indeed.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Yoochun drives for the next twenty minutes without paying attention to where he’s going, and he isn’t the only one surprised when he reaches a familiar bustling street and parks the car in front of a tourist agency. Surprised, but not so much on second thought – as if this particular destination makes sense, at this point of their story. Changmin shoots him a questioning glance, before he looks outside to study the façade of what once was a coffee shop.  
  
There are colorful posters of exotic countries on the front window, where the day’s menu and the prices of drinks used to be displayed. A red sofa and a couple armchairs are struggling to fill the space of the former main room, but the counter in the back is still there, now converted into a front desk and covered with more flashy advertisements for cheap, paradisiac escapes.  
  
The agency is closed and the street itself is emptying fast as ominous dark clouds gather above them, heralding the promised rain. A middle-aged man passes in front of their car, talking into his phone as he struggles to pull an umbrella out of a black leather bag with one hand only. Yoochun watches him without really paying attention as the stranger steps onto the pavement and disappears at the corner of the street. He keeps opening and closing his hands around the steering wheel restlessly, extra aware of the presence of the young man at his side.  
  
He doesn’t dare to look at him.  
  
He doesn’t want to leave that car, doesn’t want to resume pretending, doesn’t want to act as if everything is still like before – whatever _before_ was – his heart tightens inside his chest. They have wandered too close to the edge of the grey zone that has defined their relationship lately. It’s confused here, fuzzy, uneven… their years together have stretched too far, reached uncharted territories, touched a sensitive border that burst open in several places already. They went too far and he doesn’t want to go back now. He feels restive, jumpy, oppressed, and he can’t tell if it’s more because of expectations or fear.  
  
The first raindrops crash loudly on the windscreen, taking him by surprise. Fat, round, neat aureoles of water that drift sideways and draw transparent lines between them and the outside world. Yoochun thinks of Changmin’s lines. He thinks they don’t mean anything anymore, just like he lost his dream in the face of reality. He unclenches his hands as rain starts falling faster, raindrops meeting the windscreen with loud thuds that soon overlap and melt into a continuous drumming.  
  
Whose turn is it now?  
  
Is he going to be the one who’ll dare to take the necessary next step, or will it be Changmin? It’s both the easiest and the hardest part. They didn’t leave much space for the other to question what they wanted, but the very fact that they _want_ it is an impossibility. It was. It isn’t anymore – is it?  
  
And it’s strange and uncomfortable as only reality can be.  
  
Yoochun removes his hands from the steering wheel. Save for a couple umbrellas hurrying past their car, there is no one in the street now – heavy rain washing the shores of silence. Again it’s just Changmin and him, and the world is fading around them. The world is fatigued and empty, and they are too young for it.  
  
“There is something I need to tell you” Changmin’s voice suddenly rises next to him, each word clear and detached against the clatter of rain, “and you’re not going to like it, but I have to.”  
  
Yoochun looks down at his hands, wondering if he should have spoken first. Probably, he should have. He turns his head and meets Changmin’s eyes for the first time since they left the police station. In spite of the apparent steadiness of his gaze, wariness and insecurity are flickering in twin brown irises. The young man’s face colors faintly with embarrassment. He pauses, careful in choosing his next words.  
  
“I don’t love you” he enounces slowly, his eyes fixed on him.  
  
Yoochun’s heart clenches hard.  
  
He looks at him, feeling betrayed, and empty. He looks at Changmin and thinks he should have spoken first. He should have told him of the thousand things he knows about him, of the way their lives touched then mixed and blended – once distinct shapes and colors merging into one inextricable picture. Until that image distorts in front of his eyes, splitting into mirrored visions… true, fake, real and dreamed, united at times, opposed at others, and Yoochun had come to hope they were compatible after all… but of course not, of course.  
  
“I know” he hears himself say hollowly, hands clenched into fists on his lap.  
  
He tears his gaze from Changmin’s face and reaches for the contact key numbly, too stunned and weary to try and make sense of what happened… was supposed to happen, didn’t, threw his heart off balance and put him back on his feet, and twirled around his soul and brushed broken feelings and burned and vanished before he could grasp anything more than the fleeting shadow of a flawless hope.  
  
Yoochun stills when a hand grabs his arm and stops him from starting the car. He hears his name and turns his head, and meets Changmin’s eyes once more. Darker now. Frowning. Annoyed.  
  
“Why are you always like this??” the young man hisses none too kindly, and Yoochun wonders what he did this time to piss him off again. And he’s tired of it. Doesn’t know what he should do, what’s expected of him, what Changmin wants and why does he have to follow anyway. Why is it always Yoochun who complies and goes along with whatever Changmin says and does?  
  
“I’m driving you home” he answers flatly, reaching for the key again, “there is-“  
  
“Listen to what I have to say, at least!”  
  
“You were pretty clear just now.”  
  
“I just-“  
  
“It’s fine, I get it, I’m-“  
  
“For fuck’s sake Yoochun!!”  
  
Changmin’s fist hits the car window with a loud thump, effectively making Yoochun freeze. He stares in shock, unused to displays of violence from the young man, and watches him with his mouth hanging open as Changmin curses again and rubs his face harshly, letting out a long breath. Another dark piercing glare is thrown his way that makes Yoochun wince, before he realizes that there is more than just anger here.  
  
“Why are you-“ he starts, but Changmin is no longer listening.   
  
“I _knew_ you’d react that way!”  
  
“But-“  
  
“So it just has to be bloody perfect from the start, right??!” the young man half-shouts, angry patches of red appearing high on his cheeks, his eyes bright and ablaze with emotions Yoochun never saw there in all the years they spent together, and that abruptly send his heart pounding. “You and I, just like you imagined in your own ideal little world, nothing else?!”  
  
“That’s not-“  
  
“And if we don’t get it right on the fucking first try then too bad, is that it?? It has to be _love_ , fucking perfect love, and you won’t give a damn if I say that I can’t give you that now??!” Changmin’s voice rises and wavers and cracks, that sound alone enough to make Yoochun’s heart sink, the words themselves rekindling the hope he so carelessly discarded a handful of seconds ago.  
  
“Changmin-“  
  
“Does it mean nothing to you that I’m _here_?! Do you have any idea what I-“ Changmin stops halfway and he shakes his head, his gaze afire and defiant and hurt, betraying the internal struggle he went through during the past few months. “Do you have any idea what it means for _me_??”  
  
Yoochun instinctively reaches for him, only for his hand to be shoved away. Changmin straightens up, glowering down at him. Inexplicably an echo of Junsu’s angry voice crosses Yoochun’s mind – _he calls you his friend_ – instantly lost in the now drowning background of torrential rain.   
  
“I liked it when you kissed me” Changmin adds out of the blue, his chin raised, as if daring him to argue.  
  
That defiant admission is followed by a stunned silence. That’s one bombshell too many, in just one morning, and Yoochun frantically replays the past five minutes, desperate to figure out if he missed something massive here or if there’s simply no logic to begin with in everything Changmin has been saying since he announced he didn’t love him.  
  
“But” he starts feebly, intending to remind him of just that, “you said-“  
  
“And it feels good being with you, I _like_ being with you” Changmin sniffs, “obviously”. His entire face turned an unusual dark shade of pink, and while he’s still glaring, his gaze lost the sharp edge that made Yoochun recoil just a minute ago. “I like that you understand… that you don’t care what others think. I like your stupid jokes and when you get all excited about ridiculous things, and how you keep _doing_ ridiculous things, and I’m not… I don’t mind...”  
  
Changmin abruptly stops rambling, his gaze flickering to Yoochun’s mouth then his hands. For a while he seems to be struggling with the too many words on the verge of pouring out, the too many thoughts he needs to express… too many feelings to acknowledge, give shape to, and finally lay into plain light. Now he looks like he lost track of his own emotions, overwhelmed and confused, and Yoochun seizes his chance without thinking, his heart racing, hardly believing what he just heard.  
  
Yoochun reaches for him once more and takes his hand. He holds it tight, squeezing those warm fingers into his own, and firmly intending not to let go even if Changmin protests.  
  
Changmin doesn’t protest.  
  
Changmin glances down at their linked hands and swallows before looking at him again. All traces of his previous anger have deserted his face and left other emotions in their wake – bare, new, tentative… brown eyes hesitantly searching his own, a quiet plea for Yoochun to hear him out this time. A muffled throb resounding through his heart.  
  
“Can’t that be enough?” he asks at last in a much lower voice, barely audible over the sound of rain. “Can’t it be enough that I want to _try_?”  
  
“Changmin…“  
  
“I can’t promise you that it’s going to turn out as you hope” Changmin continues before he can answer, unconsciously tightening his hold onto Yoochun’s fingers as if he’s scared the older man will leave. “I can’t promise it’s going to be _love_ , you know, but I can… I _swear_ I’m serious about this.”  
  
When have you _not_ been serious about anything, Yoochun nearly says, but now is not the time to be an asshole and try Changmin’s limits. Still, he feels oddly detached, aware of his throbbing heart and sweaty palms, of the warmth of the hand holding his, of the way his lips haven’t stopped tingling, but it somehow feels as if those emotions are not his own. _Defense mechanism_ , a voice in his mind – Yoowhan’s now – provides helpfully, _you don’t want to kiss him senseless this time, try for a little restraint, show him you actually got a brain, not just teenage hormones_.  
  
 _Bullshit_ , Yoochun inwardly retorts, his eyes automatically drawn to Changmin’s mouth all the same.  
  
He tries and fails to remember what the young man just said. It’s fine, he thinks absently… all fine, he only has to find a couple comforting words… say it’s okay, whatever Changmin wants is okay, anything… Changmin is upset so he must reassure him, let him set the pace, go slow, be nice.  
  
“You liked it when I kissed you” Yoochun blurts out, his eyes still fixed on the other’s lips.  
  
Changmin’s anxious expression instantly turns to utter embarrassment. His face flushes, he makes a move like to withdraw his hand, and Yoochun starts panicking at once.  
  
“That’s not… I-I didn’t want to say that” he stammers, instinctively gripping Changmin’s hand hard. “I just- damnit, you’re right, I’m stupid… here, I’m so fucking stupid and I’m sorry I kissed you… well I’m not, but you know, and you said you liked it, and then you kissed me too, but it’s just-“  
  
He halts when he spots the small smile that just rose to Changmin’s lips. The young man is still obviously uncomfortable, but there is something familiar and safe in the way his eyes become slightly mismatched, softening with mingled amusement and genuine affection. Yoochun unconsciously relaxes, loosening his hold onto Changmin’s hand a little.  
  
“Guess I can’t think right” he mutters, “not when you’re around and-“  
  
“I’m flattered.”  
  
“ _And_ talking about kissing me.”  
  
Yoochun can’t repress a smile. He doesn’t mind the quiet laughter now dancing in Changmin’s eyes, it reminds him of when he called him a brat just to make him laugh.  
  
It reminds him of red roses, of a plastic gun, of chocolate cakes and silly texts and jokes, and every time… every single time, the gentle glow bathing his heart in warmth whenever he managed to bring that smile to Changmin’s lips, and that light to his eyes. That very sensation… that one, special feeling he only ever felt with Changmin, the unique reason why he decided to stay at first, and why he then found himself coming back every time. The only reality Yoochun wanted to grasp and feel and claim for his own, even if that meant discarding every perfect dream he had nurtured on the way.  
  
“There is something I need to tell you too”, he resumes talking after a silence, noticing that outside the downpour gave way to softer rain, droplets gently clapping against the car’s roof and windows. After a second of hesitation, he allows his thumb to run against the back of Changmin’s hand, his heartbeat quickening when the young man wordlessly intertwines their fingers.  
  
“I love you” Yoochun tells him – for the first time saying it right.  
  
Changmin’s steady gaze wavers. His smile fades, he opens his mouth to speak, but Yoochun knows what he’s doing this time.  
  
“You have to let me say it”, he adds without pausing and leans forward a little, “I understand, I _do_ … I heard you just now, and it’s fine, really, but I need…”  
  
He pauses, watching him now… Yoochun loves watching him. For years that’s all he was allowed to do. His gaze follows the contours of his face, placing a smile there – a pout, a frown, laughter and tears. Every time they met he uncovered something new, he thinks… every time they met, Changmin showed him more, and the more he revealed, the more Yoochun wanted to see. The more he wanted to have. The stronger those feelings became, and now Yoochun doesn’t want to call it falling anymore because _now_ he knows, and loving Changmin pulled him up and tirelessly made him face upwards, and reach higher.  
  
“I love you” he says again, his heart overflowing. “I just want you to know that.”  
  
A faint blush comes creeping up Changmin’s face again but he merely nods.  
  
“Fair enough” he answers, his voice a little rough. He averts his eyes. Yoochun lowers his gaze.  
  
Their fingers are still intertwined next to Changmin’s leg. Neither of them loosens their hold even though they safely went through the words they both had to say, and Yoochun feels relieved and thinks the hardest part is done now – though deep inside, he knows it actually all just started.  
  
He doesn’t speak, and Changmin remains silent. They let seconds pass. They let the silence spread out, wrapped into quiet rain – a shelter of protective layers that seem to envelop this moment and keep them removed from a world that otherwise always rushes them, discarding the slow growth of a throbbing radiance. It took so much time. It was such a long way and it so often felt like it was leading them nowhere, and Yoochun realizes with a pang to his heart that this is where they meet.  
  
“Yoochun…” Changmin ventures hesitantly after a short silence, looking unsure again. He’s staring ahead at the still empty street and Yoochun thinks absently that when the world will get back in motion, no one but them will know the tiny miracle that bloomed within a spell of frozen time. “If we don’t… if it doesn’t work out…”  
  
Changmin throws a nervous glance his way, watching for his reaction as Yoochun keeps his face carefully blank.  
  
“Do you think… are you going to stay anyway?”  
  
Yoochun stares back at him and sees a selfish brat. The one who isn’t always so mature, so serious and so sure. The one who may be scared of the very truth he stubbornly holds onto, and sometimes feels trapped within the lines he himself drew. The one Yoochun could never say ‘no’ to, because the anxious gaze now peering from behind such a strong façade belongs to the only person who truly needs him in this world.  
  
“Of course” he answers, squeezing his hand a little.  
  
Yoochun doesn’t know if it’s true. He doesn’t think it’s a lie either. It’s just Changmin and him, and they work in ways they could never fully grasp themselves.  
  
  
~  
  
  
It’s a familiar scene. They are lying on Yoochun’s bed, game controllers in hand, focused on the TV screen as their old-fashioned characters launch into a third round of fighting. Changmin won the first one, Yoochun the second – similar frowns on their faces as they are both absorbed in game mechanics they know like the back of their hands.  
  
They went straight to Yoochun’s place earlier, after the rain stopped and the city once again filled with people and noise – a flurry of life they’re not attuned with yet. Changmin needs more of that secluded space, more of this quiet time shared by the two of them only, and he read the same unspoken wish in Yoochun’s eyes when the older man asked what he wanted to do now. The drive to Yoochun’s place afterwards was quiet. Laden with untried thoughts. Standing at the edge of a new, virgin space… for real, this time.  
  
It’s one thing to consider and imagine and finally accept that they could be something _more_ – to accept that he _wants_ them to try and be that something. It’s another thing altogether to actually do it… one word after the other, within lost silences, having to remind oneself every moment that now they have crossed that last line.  
  
Changmin represses a groan as his character takes a bad hit, risking a glance on his left. Yoochun’s full focus is on the game, the lower half of his face buried in the pillow stuck between his elbows, his thumbs deftly pressing buttons on the old game controller. One second of inattention is all it takes. Changmin accepts defeat mere minutes later, dropping his controller on the floor next to the bed and crossing his arms under his chin, eyes resolutely fixed on the now black TV screen, silent. Unsure.  
  
Reluctant though he is to admit it, he feels self-conscious near Yoochun – self-conscious in ways he knows it’ll take some time to tame. He can’t tell what the older man is expecting now. Some of it might not be too bad – Changmin is definitely not against experimenting some more kissing – but most of the other ideas that cross his mind vastly derive from when he was together with Jungmi, and he still is far _far_ from doing any of that with Yoochun.  
  
“Is this okay…?” the older man asks at that exact moment, stopping an unwelcome train of thoughts. “I mean… aren’t we supposed to do something different now that we are… well…”  
  
Changmin turns his head in time to see Yoochun stiffly wave his hand back and forth between the two of them.  
  
“Together?” he suggests matter-of-factly, acting more confident than he actually feels.  
  
“Yeah…” Yoochun mumbles, and there is a certain selfish satisfaction in seeing him redden slightly – Changmin is glad to know he is not the only one feeling like a highschooler on their first date. “I don’t mind, but this is just what we usually do right? Shouldn’t we be doing something more… less _normal_ , you know?”  
  
“Were you by chance hoping for more romantic plans?” Changmin raises an eyebrow in a masterful expression of skepticism.  
  
“That-“  
  
“Maybe a candlelight dinner?”  
  
“I don’t-“  
  
“Because I’m all for it as long as you’re the one paying. I know you-“  
  
“If you dare say _magnanimous_ I swear I’m skinning you alive.”  
  
Changmin grins widely, self-consciousness temporarily forgotten as Yoochun glares at him with an aggravated expression that he knows is entirely exaggerated.  
  
“You’re impossible” the older man blurts out. His face falls at once and he buries his face into his pillow, adding something unintelligible that sounds like _didn’t want to say that_.  
  
“What do you want to do then?” Changmin bites back another smile and leans to the side, poking at the other’s elbow.  
  
Yoochun raises his head, his hair falling into his eyes, his face suddenly very close. Very, _very_ close. Changmin has to refrain from drawing back as self-consciousness comes back with a vengeance, and unwanted ideas jump back at the front of his mind – because suddenly Yoochun’s mouth is very close too, and Changmin still remembers clearly _that_ first kiss, and he can’t pretend anymore that he doesn’t know what it means when Yoochun stares sometimes, like now, with his gaze running over his face greedily in a way that leaves little room for imagination regarding what he’s thinking of.  
  
“Can I kiss you?” Yoochun asks abruptly.   
  
Changmin groans and lets his head fall, face hidden against his crossed arms, resisting the urge to curse again and thinking he can’t do this except he’s actually doing it right now but it would just help _a lot_ if Yoochun would stop being so embarrassingly direct. Or maybe if _he_ would stop feeling embarrassed at every damn direct thing Yoochun says, which is a tad disconcerting because Changmin is usually the one being inconveniently straightforward and making people feel upset, but then again Yoochun is the exception. Yoochun has _always_ been the exception.  
  
“What now?” he hears the older man ask somewhere above him, sounding mildly worried. A little annoyed too.  
  
“Don’t _ask_.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because it’s awkward if you ask” Changmin mutters, immediately wishing he had said nothing.  
  
“But I like making you feel awkward.”  
  
It takes a couple seconds for Changmin to process those last words. His heart misses a beat once he does, abruptly off-balance, shaken, and there… there again, the renewed awareness that there is a side of Yoochun that he doesn’t know – not yet – but that he just agreed to acknowledge and explore.  
  
Changmin raises his head after a while, a retort ready on his lips. He barely has the time to spot dark eyes and a lopsided smile before Yoochun leans forward and takes his lips between his own.  
  
There’s silence. A second of hesitation, before the older man angles his head and presses his mouth fully against his. Changmin’s fingers dig into the bed covers as he unconsciously closes his eyes, words forgotten, struggling to grasp both the sensation of lips brushing against his own and the knowledge that those lips are Yoochun’s. His breathing quickens a little. It’s Yoochun’s scent – strong and masculine –, Yoochun’s mouth, and now Yoochun’s fingers grazing the back of his hand in a slow gesture that is neither shy nor tentative, but purposeful instead.  
  
Changmin represses a shudder. He forgets what he wanted to say. He forgets about being self-conscious and parts his lips without thinking, instinctively seeking more contact, needing to anchor fluttering sensations to a firmer touch when Yoochun suddenly leans back and breaks the kiss.  
  
“You always talk too much.”  
  
A shaky breath escapes Changmin’s mouth. He opens his eyes again just as the older man’s hand wraps around his fingers, squeezing them gently. Reassurance and need enclosed in one easy move that reminds Changmin that if this is all new to him, Yoochun has been there way before him. Yoochun’s feelings and dreams have stubbornly reached for those very sensations for years, no matter how impossible they have seemed all along. It makes Changmin wonder just how much he must have needed this. It makes him search Yoochun’s eyes, for the pain he must have hidden and the feelings he must be trying to hold back now.  
  
It makes him wonder for the first time just how much he took for granted here.  
  
“You always think too much too” Yoochun whispers then, dark eyes softening a little, as if he just read his mind. “You don’t have to. It’s fine like this.”  
  
“One of us needs to do the thinking though” Changmin answers automatically, his voice light but not as assured as he’d like it to be. “And I assume that’d be me.”  
  
“That would definitely be you” Yoochun easily follows along, smiling, his gaze warm as if he was actually expecting him to say something like this.  
  
He doesn’t seem to mind that attempt to go back to more normal grounds, and Changmin releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He averts his eyes. He nods to himself, pondering, wondering, hesitating – entirely unaware of the way Yoochun is staring now, amused and kind and with a flicker of near-adoration that he’d definitely not be ready to handle just now – before Changmin’s frustration gets the best of him and he decides _to hell with it_.  
  
“You can do the kissing” he spills, looking straight at the older man and thoroughly enjoying the look of surprise on Yoochun’s face – all the more so as he managed not to blush this time.  
  
Changmin quickly looks down again before self-consciousness strikes back, and smiles to himself when a soft kiss lands on his cheek. He watches as a hand tightens around his own – different, big and unfamiliar yet _safe_ in ways that he has never attempted to rationalize and that go years back, to the shelter of long quiet talks, of knowing looks and shared secrets, of unspoken acceptance and care.  
  
“I’ll do the kissing then” Yoochun says, his mouth a little close to his ear, his voice a little low, his breath a little warm as it brushes past his cheek.  
  
Changmin doesn’t mind.  
  
His life is made of lines, sure, but Yoochun is the exception. Yoochun keeps breaking through without warning to tell him with a smile that there is another side to life, and different ways to make it yours – that he can choose that other path, and not worry about anything because he won’t be alone there.  
  
That it’s not so much about where roads lead, but about how to walk them, and who is there alongside you.  
  
  
~  
  
  
You don’t decide of the important things – they happen or they don’t, and that’s about all. This is the belief Yoochun has relied on since childhood, because he figures people need to believe in something and that particular stance on life proved remarkably easy to manage.  
  
It’s not a matter of right or wrong, good or evil, sensible or not. It’s a fact – the same blind fate that once triggered a big bang, and tomorrow will lead two people to sit side by side in a concert hall, and maybe they’re made for each other and maybe if their eyes just met they’d know it, and years later they’d call that meeting ‘Fate’. And maybe the important thing here is that neither of them will recognize the life changing opportunity sitting next to them and scratching their nose as they browse through a promotional leaflet for the local classical band.  
  
Important things happen all the time, Yoochun believes. Most people are simply too busy with the smaller picture to notice.  
  
Important things can also feel wrong, not _sensible_. The chance so few people take when it suddenly arises just for them. The one regret they secretly carry until the end of their days, shelved in a not-so-sensible corner of their heart.  
  
Because it’s not only a matter of recognizing the most important event of your existence as it comes near – sometimes a blinding surge of light, sometimes a calling whispered in the dark. It also takes a rare kind of courage to make that most important event into your most important decision.  
  
  
  
  
There’s one chance, Yoochun believes – one falling star – and there’s one choice, the one moment when you decide to catch a meteor or let it pass by. And then, there’s what comes after… the chaos and radiance of a comet’s tail, the thousand facets of a future that would not have happened if you hadn’t seized it, and Yoochun instinctively knows how to cherish all of it without ever wondering about what’s right or wrong, good or evil or sensible.  
  
Yoochun believes that loving Changmin is both the most important event of his life and the most important decision he ever made. It’s a simple fact. It happened, and that’s about all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's DONE~ My YooMin babies (who have become yours too) are finally on the way to their happy ending, which should happen in the epilogue... about this I have to say I'm still working on one part and I cannot 100% promise that it's going to be up next Saturday but I'll do my best ^o^  
> I don't have much to say, except there's more kisses in this chapter than in the entire story, and that I hope you'll like this ending -- which is more of a beginning, really :)
> 
> Thank you for reading/commenting! <3


	17. Epilogue - Of important things (Part A)

Their beginning doesn’t feel like one, a time of strange quality… deeply familiar when considering every distinct detail yet constantly a little off if you look at the broad picture. Unless it’s the contrary.  
Above all, there’s the acute consciousness that a different _them_ is born and that it’s changing everything – quickly, slowly, it’s hard to tell – even though it soon becomes clear that most of this new ‘them’ has always been here, somewhere, steering the underflow of their lives.  
Perhaps the difference between being in love, or wanting to outline it amidst a tangled bundle of feelings too strong and earnest to bear being tidied.  
  
  
  
  
 _▪ Hey ^^_  
  
 _Mmh?_  
  
 _Something’s wrong?_  
  
 _▪ I can’t sleep_  
  
 _Are you by chance thinking of me? :)))_  
  
 _▪ Yes_  
  
 _▪ Yoochun?_  
  
 _You remember when you said you thought being blunt was actually a very good thing_  
  
 _▪ Yes?_  
  
 _And how I told you that wasn’t cute at all?_  
  
 _▪ …Yes_  
  
 _I take it back_  
  
 _You’re adorable_  
  
 _▪ Good night_  
  
 _I mean it_  
  
 _▪ Turning off my phone_  
  
 _Are you embarrassed now?_  
  
 _Cos that’s even cuter_  
  
 _Adorable, I’m telling youuuu_  
  
 _I’m so happy_  
  
 _Meet me in your dreams_  
  
 _I love you_  
  
 _< 3_  
  
  
  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Changmin hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t look up from his phone, his expression perplexed as he reads again through Yoochun’s texts last night. He’s been trying for hours now to wrap his mind around this specific newfound side of the older man’s personality – meaning the utterly shameless flirting and flailing all over him – but it’s proving hard to take in. Especially the ‘adorable’ part.  
  
“You should stop glaring at your phone. It could be sending the bad waves back to you.”  
  
God knows Changmin has been called a lot of things in his life, but “adorable” is a first. His mother never did, Jungmi only went as far as “cute”, and even in his wildest attempts to piss him off, Junsu would never have dared.  
  
“The bad waves from phones can make knots in your brain cells, you know.”  
  
Changmin just can’t begin to pinpoint what it is about him that would objectively earn an “adorable” label. Then again, it’s obvious at this point that Yoochun can’t do “objective” when it comes to him. It’s been two weeks and that was more than enough time for him to figure out that his friend ( _boyfriend_ actually, and doesn’t that sound weird) is really, really far gone down the infatuation path. He had not anticipated some of the consequences for himself though.  
  
“They say it’s all part of _their_ plan to take humanity out.”  
  
“I told you already aliens don’t exist” Changmin looks up at last, meeting Jaejoong’s worried eyes. “You’ve been reading bullshit online again.”  
  
Jaejoong’s features harden, shifting into an obstinate expression that Changmin has come to know all too well in the months when Yoochun was away in Australia.  
  
“That-“  
  
“No.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“We’re not having this conversation again” Changmin cuts him.  
  
He tried… spent hours presenting logical, simple arguments, only for Jaejoong to counterattack with rumors of UFO sightings the previous week above a teashop in Jeju or similar nonsense. Changmin soon realized that his attempts to have a serious take on the matter did nothing but fuel the older man’s enthusiasm for aberrations in general and alien life in particular. He’s not giving up, but arguing with Jaejoong is awfully draining. Right now there are more pressing issues on his mind.  
  
“I just don’t understand” he mutters to himself, absently checking the time on his phone as a subway train appears in the tunnel on their left. Yoochun is eight minutes late.  
  
Jaejoong is thankfully not in the mood to put up much of a fight today. He shakes his head disapprovingly before taking a seat next to Changmin as the train stops, the platform soon filling with the bustle of people rushing in and out.  
  
The three of them agreed to meet up here before going together to a robot exhibition Yoowhan has been working on. Changmin grants robots as much interest as aliens – zero – yet it’s the third time he’s being dragged there. Yoochun is adamant about making as many people as possible go – ‘for visitor rates you know’ – and while Changmin clearly feels that he’s being taken advantage of, it doesn’t bother him as much as it should.  
  
“What don’t you understand?” Jaejoong asks, talking loud to be heard above the commotion and the rumble of the train leaving.  
  
“This” Changmin answers curtly, waving his phone, and increasingly frustrated. “I don’t get _this_ at all.”  
  
“It’s the knots in your brain cells” Jaejoong provides at once, his eyes glinting triumphantly.  
  
“Leave my brain cells alone, they’re doing just fine.”  
  
“Unless it’s depression, have you-”  
  
“Seriously, _I_ am adorable??”  
  
Jaejoong freezes, speechless – a rare feat. As it is Changmin barely notices, his thoughts following a logic of their own and anyway that was a rhetorical question. Only a gross cheesy infatuated idiot like Yoochun could come up with nonsense like this. No. The problem is that it’s not supposed to make Changmin feel all _fluttery_ inside.  
  
He’s so going to make Yoochun pay for it once he finally shows up – eleven minutes late now.  
  
“…Changmin?”  
  
“What now?” he snaps, regretting at once his harsh tone and glancing at Jaejoong in case he looks hurt and he needs to apologize or something. Jaejoong is easily hurt, he learned, and by the most ridiculous remarks too, but whatever you want to think about Changmin he doesn’t like hurting people.  
  
Jaejoong doesn’t look hurt though. In fact he’s sporting a dazzling grin that makes Changmin blink, because it’s the first time Jaejoong is looking at him this way – like what he just said or did was extraordinarily beautiful – and Changmin isn’t used to being looked at like this. Much like he isn’t used to being called adorable.  
  
“…What?” he asks again, less harshly, albeit a tad suspicious.  
  
“I got you a present” Jaejoong announces out-of-the-blue and bends down to pick a plastic bag on the ground next to them. “Here!”  
  
Changmin stares alternatively at the bag in the other’s outstretched hand and at his too-bright smile, admittedly wary. He gestures to make sure it’s okay to open it now as another train noisily pulls into the subway station, and Jaejoong nods enthusiastically, bringing his feet up on his seat and putting his arms around his knees as a new flow of people pours onto the platform.  
  
“Yoochun is fifteen minutes late” Changmin observes as he takes the bag.  
  
Jaejoong cocks his head to the side questioningly.  
  
“You know sometimes you don’t make sense at all.”  
  
Changmin halts in the middle of opening the bag. He considers his options, a dozen perfectly honed and sensible retorts instantly flashing through his mind, because isn’t that the most absurd statement ever – coming from _Jaejoong_ of all people. He ends up smiling instead.  
  
“I guess I don’t” he comments softly, his smile widening when Jaejoong’s expression turns impossibly smug, and reverts to the plastic bag in his hand.  
  
Changmin successfully opens it as this train too leaves without them. An improbable jumble of trinkets spills on his lap. There is a ball pen, ear plugs, a USB key, a pack of balloons, a plastic toy (the sort they give away in family restaurants when you take the kids menu), a handful of sugar candies, a keychain, cheap sunglasses and a saltshaker. He contemplates that bric-a-brac, needing a few seconds to realize that the only common point between all those things is that they are orange and blue. He raises his head and finds Jaejoong watching him eagerly.  
  
“Thanks” Changmin says, careful not to make any side comment that might not be interpreted to his advantage.  
  
“They are complementary colors you know” Jaejoong flashes another bright smile at him, and then, out of nowhere, “thank you so much.”  
  
Changmin has nothing to say to that. He watches him as Jaejoong brings his knees closer to his chest and looks up at the clock hanging above the platform. Yoochun is over twenty minutes late now.  
  
“I think it’s ok to be late” the older man muses, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.  
  
“Same. It has never bothered me” Changmin answers truthfully, but his mind is already somewhere else. He fumbles with his jacket, taking his phone out of his pocket with one hand while placing Jaejoong’s presents back inside the plastic bag with the other.  
  
There are four messages and three voicemails from Yoochun, all variations on the familiar theme of “I’m sorry”, “on my way” and “omg _please_ don’t kill me”. Of course there’s also a far-fetched excuse for being late that Changmin knows is nowhere near true, and that Yoochun knows Changmin won’t believe, as usual. As usual, Changmin will pretend to be annoyed when Yoochun will finally arrive. And as usual, Yoochun will beg for forgiveness and indulge Changmin’s every whim for the next few hours.  
  
But this time, Changmin thinks, oblivious of the agitation around as yet another train arrives… this time maybe Yoochun will have this big, foolish, lovesick grin on his face as he’ll run toward him. Maybe he’ll take his hand to make him stand up from his seat and not let go afterwards. Maybe later he’ll squeeze his fingers tight when no one is looking, and maybe… just maybe, Changmin will tighten his hold in return.  
  
He finishes carefully collecting the orange and blue items inside the bag, fighting an uncharacteristic urge to smile. He gives in eventually when a loud scream of “Changmin-ah!!” reaches his ears, a little frantic but above all so damn _happy_ that he doesn’t need to look up to know that, sure enough, there is a huge dumb smile illuminating Yoochun’s face.  
  
In a few seconds Changmin will look up, scowl, and complain about punctuality for the sake of habits. Now he keeps his head lowered and allows his smile to linger just a little longer. The truth is that he wouldn’t want _them_ to be any other way.  
  
  
~  
  
  
The first time Yoochun and Changmin try for touches a little more feisty than kissing – even considering how very enthusiastic their kissing has become – it doesn’t go so well.  
  
The second time is a full disaster. Changmin spends the following days carefully avoiding touching him, talking to him or even just looking at him if he can avoid it, and incidentally – in the rare occurrences when their gazes meet – turning various interesting shades of red. Yoochun starts working on convincing himself that he’s perfectly fine with a platonic relationship, and that the idea doesn’t make him feel utterly depressed.  
  
The third time they have both drunk a lot more than strictly necessary, which as a general rule is not recommended at all, but in their specific case proves to help considerably.  
The nerve-racking pressure Yoochun put upon himself subsides enough for him to remember how much he wants Changmin, and also focus on letting him know how badly he wants him, instead of a crippling mantra of You Must Not Mess This Up. Meanwhile Changmin discovers there _is_ a limit to how frustrated he can get, and proceeds with crashing through that one line as soon as alcohol works its disinhibiting properties.  
  
The outcome is arguably nowhere near Yoochun’s wild sex fantasies, but when he wakes up and opens his eyes the next morning, Changmin’s sleeping face fills his field of vision and he knows what heaven on earth must be like. And that’s after having dreamed this moment a thousand times before.  
  
In spite of a killer hangover, the next twenty minutes become the most perfect his life has ever been – Yoochun spends them watching him, just watching. When it becomes clear that Changmin won’t wake up any time soon, Yoochun snuggles closer, not daring to take him in his arms just yet but still close enough to be wrapped in the younger man’s scent and warmth. He lets Changmin’s presence overtake every sense, every thought, every feeling, and drifts back to sleep with a content sigh.  
  
  
  
One morning about eight months into their relationship, Changmin catches Yoochun in the bathroom taking a selfie to show Jaejoong the big purple hickey on his collarbone.  
  
“But it’s my first hickey!!” Yoochun protests vehemently when Changmin snatches his phone from his hand, and shuts his mouth seeing the younger man’s vicious glare. Survival instincts kick in. Yoochun takes a cautious step back, palms up and hands raised midair in a show of innocence. He pauses to ponder how damn sexy Changmin looks when he’s angry, and also how he really should have learnt to better order his priorities by now.  
  
“You” Changmin says in that quiet tone that always makes Yoochun wish he’d be screaming instead, “are going to end up with a _lot_ more bruises if I ever find you doing something like this again.”  
  
“…Where?”  
  
It’s out before Yoochun can stop himself and he dives under Changmin’s arm, running out of the bathroom before the younger can react.  
  
“ _YOOCHUN_ ” he hears him shout a second later but he already reached the shelter of the bedroom and locks himself inside, shaking with laughter.  
  
Changmin spends the next thirty minutes spilling strings of imaginative death threats on the other side of the door. It’s the kind of excessive thing he does when he’s excessively embarrassed and Yoochun grins like a fool that entire time.  
  
  
~  
  
  
One Thursday evening soon after his 30th birthday, Yoochun takes the long way home after work – an odd job again, this time as an editing assistant at a local newspaper firm, but he enjoys it well enough and even admitted he’d like to stay if they asked to keep him. Changmin says “of course they’ll want to keep you”. Jaejoong believes it’s a good idea because of the nurturing smell of ink and paper – whatever that means – and wants him to investigate why they publish the bad news in the first place.  
  
Yoochun only knows that he has two weeks left working there. He’ll be happy if they propose him to renew his contract, he’ll deal with it just fine if they don’t.  
  
Dusk is already spreading, swiftly darkening sinuous streets and bringing a welcome breath of cool air after the numbing heat of that long summer day. He stops by a garage screened by an old gnarled tree, home to dozens of evening birds gathered on its branches. The murmuring breeze ruffles the tree’s pale leaves and brushes past his face like a ghostly caress. The birds’ loud chirrups randomly dot the low rumble of the city in the distance. It’s the bottom part of a residential area and Yoochun’s apartment is on the top of that hill. It’s a Thursday evening.  
  
He took the long way home.  
  
He starts moving again, dragging his feet, slowly walking along a high wall. He lets the tips of his fingers brush against the warm stones, still gorged with the sunlight of a dying day. His gaze travels around, jumping from one detail to the other, restless, distracted.  
  
He stops again once he reaches the convenient store down his street, gazing inside the shop as if deep in thoughts, his hands opening and closing around the strap of his shoulder bag. He eventually resumes walking, head lowered, only to abruptly turn back after a few meters. Yoochun retraces his steps and enters the store. He comes out shortly after, a plastic bag in hand.  
He walks the remaining distance at a much faster pace, as if suddenly in a hurry to arrive after delaying the moment as best as he could during the past hour.  
  
They don’t plan anything on Thursdays. The week-end is just around the corner so there’s no need to meet that day, they agreed – or rather, Changmin suggested at first and Yoochun went along with it, and it stuck until now. Nothing planned tonight. No need to hurry.  
  
He speeds up, as if hoping to make up for the time he lost.  
  
It’s a Thursday evening and there’s a pair of shoes by the door when Yoochun comes in. He stares down at them. Black and shiny, expensive leather shoes. Changmin’s best. Lying overturned in a corner as if their owner threw them off carelessly when he arrived. Yoochun stops just the time to drop his bag, remove his own shoes and tidy Changmin’s – he’ll be annoyed at himself if he finds them like this later – and walks inside, heading to the bedroom after a second of hesitation.  
  
The curtains are drawn and Yoochun stops at the threshold, a flash of concern crossing his eyes as he spots the shape of the man lying curled up on his bed. He watches him for a full minute before he leaves the room, carefully closing the door behind him.  
  
  
  
When Yoochun comes in again ten minutes later, Changmin is still lying down but he’s awake now and facing the door, his eyes fixed on him as he walks closer.  
  
There’s tension, apprehension… silent alarms going off in Yoochun’s head, but his feet make no noise on the carpeted floor. There’s the muffled sound made by the mug in his hand when he puts it on the bedside table. The way the mattress dips under his weight when he sits down on the edge of the bed. The expectant look in Changmin’s eyes when the young man looks up at him, quiet, tired, inert.  
The soft sigh that escapes his lips as Yoochun tentatively puts one hand on his forehead, his fingers gently brushing the young man’s bangs away from his eyes.  
  
“You’re late” Changmin murmurs, closing his eyes. There’s no trace of reproach in his tone. A mere observation.  
  
“Had to stop by the store” Yoochun answers equally softly, the half-lie ready on his tongue, “knew I’d run out of chocolate powder.”  
  
“It’s summer. It’s too hot.”  
  
“And your hot chocolate is right here waiting for you.”  
  
Changmin doesn’t answer, instead burying his face into the pillow. Yoochun moves his hand to the top of his head, slowly threading his fingers through the young man’s hair. His gaze travels down from his face to his neck, and the crumpled collar of his shirt. The white clothing flatteringly fits Changmin’s lean body but the fabric is creased and rumpled, escaping in some places the waistband of his suit trousers. Yoochun looks up and spots a black jacket rolled into a ball at the foot of the bed.  
  
It’s a Thursday and it has been seven years today since Changmin’s father died.  
  
Every year there’s a commemoration event. Yoochun never attended the private ceremony – which is for close family members only – but he usually joins the small gathering afterwards, widely accepted in the Shims’ inner circle as Changmin’s best friend. He was not invited this year though. Changmin’s mother opposed a categorical refusal.  
  
Yoochun swallows around the lump in his throat.  
  
“How was it?” he ventures, aware that this is in many ways a pointless thing to say, but also that it is more or less the question Changmin expects him to ask now.  
  
“Fine…”  
  
“You don’t look fine.”  
  
Changmin cracks an eye open and looks up at him. The expression on his face is one Yoochun sees very rarely, because Changmin… Changmin doesn’t run away. Changmin fights and gets back on his feet and moves on. Changmin never complains and deals with life on his own, everyone who knows him would agree on this. But Yoochun isn’t ‘everyone’.  
  
His chest tightens and he puts his hand back on the young man’s head just as Changmin shifts closer and tucks his face against his thigh, his eyes fluttering shut again, wet at the corners.  
  
“I tried to talk to her again-“  
  
“You didn’t have to.”  
  
“She still thinks it’s just a phase.”  
  
Yoochun silently starts stroking the young man’s hair again, unable to come up with proper words of comfort, unable to do anything but wish that real life would stop being in the way. He knows Changmin must feel terribly pressured. Changmin grants family a lot of importance. He’s the only son, the older brother, the one they all expected to be married by now with maybe one child or two in tow already. Barely three years ago he was still engaged to Jungmi, and Yoochun thinks with a pang to his heart that he can’t even categorically refute Changmin’s mother’s opinion here because…  
  
Yoochun doesn’t want to think of “because”.  
  
He doesn’t want to be reminded of everything Changmin has yet to do or say. Of the oppressing anxiety that comes up whenever Yoochun sees him lost in thoughts, irritable or distant – of “what if…?”, of silences, of aborted attempts to talk to him and get him to talk in return. Of three little words that Yoochun hasn’t stopped saying but that he’s starting to fear will never be answered.  
  
“Maybe she’s right, you know” he distantly hears himself say, his free hand clasping the bed covers tight, the other still on top of Changmin’s head but unmoving now. Just here. Frozen. “You shouldn’t argue with her, not for this, who knows maybe it’s truly just a phase and-“  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
Changmin moves closer, raising his right arm to wrap it around Yoochun’s waist and burying his face against his side.  
  
“It’s not…” he says again, his hand gripping the back of Yoochun’s T-shirt, his voice thick and charged with contradicting emotions. A layer of anger too. “You’ve to believe it’s not too, you’ve to say it because else I don’t know if I c-can…”  
  
Changmin’s voice breaks halfway and Yoochun wordlessly gathers him in his arms, his heart heavy and uneasy, knowing perfectly well that he’s shit at this and hating himself for it. He wishes he could feel _sure_ , or at the very least pretend to be. He wishes _Changmin_ would be sure, so that Yoochun himself would stop having to grope around blindly for answers he doesn’t have.  
  
“I love you” he says, for lack of a better answer. His eyes fall on the mug of hot chocolate getting cold on the bedside table and he smiles somewhat bitterly.  
  
He remembers a time when it was so easy. It used to be simple – a relationship that wasn’t everything Yoochun wanted but that he could manage just fine, imperfect yet accomplished in so many different ways. Back then he used to dream that love come reality would only mean fulfilling the unachieved part of them, going that last mile together at the same easy pace.  
  
He remembers a time when loving Changmin was the simplest feeling of them all.  
  
“I love you” Yoochun says again, and again he waits in vain for an answer that doesn’t come. Changmin silently tightens his arms around him as if he never wants to let go, and Yoochun remembers a time when this was more than he even dared to hope for.  
  
He remembers when he did _not_ have him, and he wishes someone had told him back then that having Changmin – _really_ having him – would also mean fear losing him. _Really_ losing him.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Retrospectively, there are many episodes of his life that Changmin is not proud of. Most of them felt right at the moment, and it’s only with time and distance that he could understand what he should probably have done differently. A few still sting with the lingering burn of humiliation – anchored deeply in the recesses of childhood, when a handful of words is still enough to entirely reshape a person’s life. Parts of him that he accepted, dealt with and moved on from.  
  
But among those memories, there’s this one moment that Changmin still doesn’t dare to touch.  
  
One evening of his life that he can barely acknowledge years later, because absolutely everything about it still feels wrong… as sickeningly wrong as it felt when it happened. Even now he badly wishes he could undo it, change it, erase it from his past entirely or at least keep it estranged from himself – from the person he is. And yet, he has now come to realize…. and yet, had it not happened, he knows deep down that Yoochun and he would likely be standing in a different place today.  
  
  
  
Memories have blurred now – a small blessing and a mercy – but he remembers going to Yoochun’s place in the small hours of the morning, the stink of alcohol clinging to his clothes and the stale taste of guilt at the back of his throat… remembers dizziness, confusion, tripping in the stairs and pounding at Yoochun’s door with shaky hands and dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. Changmin doesn’t remember crying but his eyes burned, and his cheeks felt icy.  
  
He remembers the urge to run when Yoochun opened the door, the burning heat of shame and the clutches of renewed fear, how Yoochun ushered him inside and tried to calm him down and how _that_ had felt worse than everything else. Changmin remembers thinking that he had to tell him now – _now_ before he came to his senses and it would become too hard to say and too easy to hide.  
  
He doesn’t remember the words he used when the ugly truth spilled from his mouth… going out, wandering, late, lost, alone, drinking… drinking so much and bad excuses – so many bad excuses but Yoochun would understand, right, he _had to_ – and there was a girl next to him in the bar. She had looked like she would listen… she had looked like she was meant to be here and listen and so Changmin had told her… drank and told her about his mother not talking to him, about Jungmi marrying next month, drank again and told her about future, efforts, trying, trying more yet _not knowing_ till future becomes doubts, fears, closed, and then Yoochun being so far… so so _far away_ and already wounded, already giving up maybe and how it hurt, how he just didn’t _know_ anymore.  
  
He remembers kissing her. He remembers it had felt right the moment her lips had touched his, a brief spell of softness and relief, deepening the kiss, a hand on her slim waist and her heady perfume, and the strange comfort of having a female body pressed close to him, and possibilities. He remembers the second that followed. Remembers the realization of what he had just done crashing through him. Doesn’t remember leaving the bar but there… there was _that_ feeling, twisted, rotten, the horrible sensation that _he_ was the person who had just done that, thought that, _liked_ that. It was _him_ , and every belief he ever had about himself had just blown up in his dirty hands.  
  
That was the worst he had ever felt until an hour later. Until he was with Yoochun. Until he had _told_ Yoochun, had seen the blank expression on the older man’s face, and until Changmin had realized that stupidly, _selfishly_ , he had thought at some point that Yoochun would fix it. Because Yoochun always did… Yoochun used to know how to fix it but not recently, not anymore… not now. Not this.  
  
  
  
Predictably, Yoochun had disappeared the days that followed. Five days gone, and Changmin had not dared to do anything but leave useless voice messages filled with remorse, apologies and more bad excuses. Five days when he only allowed himself to feel awful and worse than that, until Yoochun came back and Changmin went to find him, doing his best to fight the anxiety tearing at his heart and to hide the gashes it had already cut into shaken beliefs.  
  
Changmin is bad with people, relationships… feelings in general. Still, he tried. Perhaps he did it all wrong but that was okay too, because Yoochun _knows_ , right? He knows better. He understands. He accepts him just as he is, Yoochun wouldn’t want him to be any other way. Changmin tried, so hard, without realizing that he was ready to tell him all the beautiful lies he had once refused to tell Jungmi, if that was what it’d take for Yoochun to forgive.  
  
And Yoochun merely smiled… he smiled and tilted his head, and told him not to worry. Said everything was fine. Didn’t cry. Didn’t look upset. Didn’t look hurt and didn’t get angry. Didn’t say he loved him either. Changmin knew then that there was only so much time before he lost him for good.  
  
  
  
He corners Yoochun two days after he came back, in the bathroom and way too late for this kind of talk if Yoochun’s eye bags are any indication. Changmin doesn’t give a fuck about timing. He’s scared… _scared_ like never before because the most important thing in his life is slipping right through his fingers and the more time passes, the less he manages to hold onto it – and still, Changmin doesn’t stop to think and question what _it_ is exactly.  
  
“We need to talk” he starts ominously, and Yoochun frowns, toothbrush in one hand, toothpaste in the other, his hair messy as ever and his face lined with tiredness and worries that used to leave him undisturbed.  
  
“What do you mean, ‘talk’?”  
  
“About last week” Changmin goes on, silent panic going up several notches as he notices the way Yoochun stiffens, the way he withdraws, how his eyes instantly become blank and a little lifeless.  
  
“We already talked about that” the older man states carefully, putting toothbrush and toothpaste aside on the sink, his expression giving nothing away. “I told you not to worry about it.”  
  
“We didn’t _talk_ , Yoochun” Changmin snaps, despite having promised himself not to lose his cool. “You just stood here and… and you _smiled_ and said it was fine-“  
  
“It _is_ ” Yoochun argues at once, his frown deepening, “if I say it’s fine then it _is_ and you shouldn’t-“  
  
“It’s not fine” Changmin cuts him, anxiety tying knots in his heart, on the verge of shouting and he couldn’t care less and he can’t hold back anymore – and he doesn’t _want_ to. “ _Nothing’s_ fine.”  
  
“You-“  
  
“Which part of it is _fine_ to you??” Changmin takes a step forward and his voice shakes and breaks free, and the words fly as they are, broken, self-control shattering. “That I kissed some girl I don’t even know or that you’re pretending you don’t _care_?! Or that I decided to get pissed drunk on my own cos we don’t _talk_ anymore?!! We… you don’t _say_ anything but I _know_ what you’re thinking a-and-“  
  
Tears gather in his eyes and he stubbornly blinks them back and curses, emotions overflowing and messed up, spilling out in the wrong order, at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and suddenly Yoochun is right here, looking into his eyes. Looking right at him for the first time in days.  
  
“What do you mean, what I’m thinking?”  
  
Yoochun’s voice is shaking too. Pain in his eyes… pain, anger, confusion… feelings, at last. Feelings sharp and hurtful, but feelings that broke through the older man’s thick emotional defenses and Changmin finds himself breathing again.  
  
“You believe I don’t know you?” he spills, bitter, unable to hold back the sarcasm because yes, Changmin _knows_ him, knows him better than Yoochun does himself and that’s why he’s so scared. “You’ve it all set up in your little head, don’t you? Just need the courage to _do_ it now.”  
  
“I don’t-“  
  
“It’s too complicated right?” Changmin lets it all out in one breathless question, fear overpowering him, slashing his voice and squeezing hard the suffocating weight in his chest. “With me right now, it’s too damn complicated and just when you realized you don’t _want_ that, look, I screw up!”  
  
That last sentence soars too high and cracks midway, damaged. Yoochun takes a small step forward, eyes suddenly swirling with emotions Changmin is too upset to bother noticing.  
  
“It’s all my fault now, right?!” he goes on, shouting, fists tight, jaw set and unconcerned by the tears of anger and frustration running down his cheeks, “you can fucking say it was!! You can blame it all on me and I’ll be the asshole who cheated on you, isn’t that perfect?!”  
  
Changmin held back too long, for weeks… _months_ , because he knows Yoochun, knows what he wants, what makes him hold on, why and how he breaks. Changmin _knows_ … wanted to protect him from those things Yoochun can’t cope with – family, future, questions – wanted to solve it himself, but that didn’t work, and now it’s his fault and it’s unfair… scary, paralyzing, he doesn’t have any option left and lost feelings are derailing, escaping, latching helplessly on his voice as the words pour out.  
  
“You can leave now!! You can leave me and no one will say a damn thing cos I deserve it and-“  
  
All the air leaves his lungs as Yoochun slams him into the wall. Changmin gasps and only has the time to spot tears in the older man’s eyes, and the storm raging in them, before Yoochun’s lips crash against his own and the next thing he knows Changmin is kissing back. It’s all teeth and lips, desperate and angry but relief washes through him all the same and Changmin shudders, clutching the back of Yoochun’s shirt, bringing him closer, kissing him harder, fighting the acute fear inside by pouring everything out now.  
  
He falls back against the wall when Yoochun breaks the kiss, breathing hard, staring at the older man’s tear-stricken face… the taste of those tears on his tongue, the burn behind his own eyes, his wet cheeks and racing heart. Changmin chokes on a stifled sob and grips the other’s shirt tighter, and feels hands grabbing his arms and pushing him harder against the wall.  
  
“Not leaving…” Yoochun forces out, his voice thick and his eyes defiant, heated, afire with the very passion Changmin feared was fading out the past few months. “Not leaving you, I’m not-“  
  
He stops when Changmin starts shaking his head, fresh tears rising to his eyes, feeling a mess and unable to keep any control whatsoever over the chaos of emotions he tried so hard to repress.  
  
“Don’t l-lie” he starts and takes a sharp intake of breath, scared at the way he doesn’t recognize his own voice, and tries in vain to shake the vice-like grip Yoochun is having on his upper arms, “don’t _lie_ to me, I _know_ what you’re thinking-“  
  
“The _fuck_ you know” Yoochun hisses, pressing closer, fingers digging hard into Changmin’s arms. “I’m not leaving- I can’t... couldn’t leave even if I _wanted_ to, but of course you don’t get _that_.”  
  
“I-“  
  
“I don’t give a damn who you kiss or what you feel!” Yoochun’s voice rises and whatever emotions he had managed to hold back are spilling out, his eyes filled with hurt, self-hatred, pleas, apologies, reproaches, anger, everything… tears rising again and blurring all those into one desperate look that pierces right through Changmin’s heart. “I don’t _care_ , you… you could tell me it’s over and go and I… I-I’d still be running after you like the idiot I am b-but…”  
  
Yoochun stops and breathes in shakily and Changmin doesn’t know anymore what he’s doing or feeling. He starts wiping away the tears from Yoochun’s face with one hand, apologies spilling from his mouth he doesn’t know what for, his other hand unable to let go of the older man’s shirt.  
  
“Shit” Yoochun curses, struggling to stop crying, moving his hands higher and soon he’s not so much pushing Changmin into the wall as clinging onto him. “ _Shit_ I can’t… can’t do this, I’m not- I _hate_ it.”  
  
Changmin remembers how to move and brings his arms around Yoochun, closer now, fear receding and replaced by something bigger, brighter, warmer, still vague and hard to apprehend but this one, he’s convinced… this one he shares with Yoochun, and that makes it suddenly just a little alright.  
  
“I-I understand…”  
  
“Like hell you understand!” Yoochun lashes out, eyes bright with anger and pain, “what do you _understand_?! You don’t even _love_ me!!”  
  
And it takes that moment… it takes the frantic emotions swirling in Yoochun’s eyes, the deep resonances of the words he just said, the tears on both their faces, the emotional chaos of the past days and the ghost of the past months’ anxiety hovering at the back of his mind… it takes the warmth of Yoochun’s body pressed close and the reality of that man in his arms, the reality of that fear inside him, the reality of what he needs to hear and feel – not just now, not just today but tomorrow too and every day after that – for Changmin to finally realize a very important thing.  
  
It takes the violent pounding of his heart… it takes his deepest insecurities crashing against the urge to protect his most precious person for Changmin’s last line to give way and reveal a bigger future, his brightest dream and warmest hope.  
  
  
  
When Yoochun wakes up and opens his eyes the next morning, Changmin’s sleeping face fills his field of vision and it takes several seconds before he remembers what happened the day before – the reason for his bleary eyes and fatigued thoughts. His body feels drained and way too heavy and he’s content with not moving, merely letting his eyes run over Changmin’s face. An ethereal caress full of quiet love and longing, one he’s deeply familiar with.  
  
For years that’s all he was allowed to do. That’s all he _wanted_ to do.  
  
Watch… watch him, and dream. A dream that hurt in the way dreams do – a flawless scenario that won’t happen but ensnares you all the same within its perfection… a lulling mist inside that you end up losing your way into. A dull ache that never materializes into a wound, a missing piece that can never be found since it never existed in the first place.  
  
Dreams are thieves, Yoochun knows… thieves, traps and botched emotions. He knew back then already… knew he didn’t have the strength to feel and risk more than a half-accomplished ideal. He was fully aware of the reasons why he had chosen to tie his heart to an unblemished and unattainable hope, rather than a damageable future. Reality has always scared him.  
  
Reality is a meteor, Yoochun knows.  
  
Reality happens whether you want it or not. It’s made of truths and hard feelings, it creates and breaks and soars and crashes down, and starts as many fires as it shapes black holes in its wake. Back then Yoochun wanted the lights without the darkness. He wanted the dream of Changmin and him, and knew deep down that he wasn’t brave enough for the reality of them.  
  
Today Yoochun knows that he’s stronger than he once thought.  
  
He snuggles closer, tucks his head under Changmin’s chin and wraps an arm around his torso. The sheets rustles as he curls around the warmth of the younger man’s body. Yoochun breathes in deeply and closes his eyes once he’s comfortably burrowed in Changmin’s presence, a hand splayed over the younger’s back, his lips brushing against his shoulder, the outside world effectively shunned and harmless for now.  
  
He isn’t so surprised when Changmin stirs silently and wraps his arms around him in turn. Yoochun moves along as the younger man secures his hold onto his upper body, their hands never letting go of each other until Changmin stops moving at last and sighs, and Yoochun recognizes in that soft sound the same calm tiredness and deep satisfaction filling his own being.  
He shuts his eyes more tightly. His fingertips curl and dig a little into Changmin’s shoulder blade. His mouth presses more firmly against Changmin’s skin. His heart skips a gentle beat when he feels a kiss being laid on his temple and the warm hand coming to envelop the nape of his neck, and hears the soft words whispered in his ear.  
  
Yoochun soon drifts back to sleep with a content sigh, at last fully relishing in a reality more precious to him than any dream come true.  
  
  
~  
  
  
“Changmin, I really don’t think it’s necessary…”  
  
“Don’t start again.”  
  
“ _No one_ dresses formally in there, I _know_ it, I-“  
  
Changmin tugs harder on Yoochun’s tie, effectively making the older man shut up as he attempts for the third time to tie a proper Windsor knot, brow furrowed in concentration.  
  
“If you keep moving I swear I’m strangling you with it” he mutters, punctuating the sentence with sharp little tugs on the tie to better get his point across. Yoochun seems to get the message at last and settles with sulking silently during the rest of the operation, fiercely glaring his disapproval but not daring to make any further comment while Changmin’s hands are so close to his neck.  
  
“Here” Changmin says at last when he’s done, taking a step back to admire his work. “You look great.”  
  
“I hate it” Yoochun whines, shifting uncomfortably in his tailored suit, his fingers immediately rising to feel the tie around his neck and Changmin knows it’s a matter of seconds before he starts pulling at the fabric to loosen it. “I look ridiculous.”  
  
“Stop that” he intervenes, slapping Yoochun’s hands away and giving him a warning look. “And you look perfect, stop complaining.”  
  
“I look stupid” Yoochun insists sullenly, hands falling back against his sides. “I can’t breathe with that stuff, I’m sure they don’t even _care_ , no one else’s gonna be dressed like this, and… _and_ they’ll think I’m a bloody stuck-up conceited asshole and-“  
  
“ _I’m_ the stuck-up conceited asshole, you’re not” Changmin cuts him, chewing on his lower lip as he checks Yoochun’s hair, which is less messy than usual though still not quite as neat as he’d have liked, but all the bribes and threats in the world wouldn’t have convinced Yoochun to sit down for a proper haircut. “And as far as I’m concerned you can wear your pajamas there once they hire you, but today you’re wearing a suit.”  
  
“They won’t hire me anyway…”  
  
Changmin slaps the older man’s arm none too lightly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“You’ve made it to the final round of interviews” he reminds him for the umpteenth time, as calmly as possible. “You have the exact profile they want, you’ve worked with them already _and_ they loved the job you did back then.”  
  
Yoochun nods cheerlessly, eyes downcast, looking far from convinced. Changmin sighs inwardly. He knows the older man is nervous as hell because he actually _wants_ this job, and this time around he happens to have good chances too. The local newspapers agency he once briefly worked for is hiring. They couldn’t open a position for him back then, a year and a half ago, but his previous boss contacted Yoochun again last month to tell him a job offer had just come up and that she’d recommend him – if Yoochun was interested of course.  
  
Yoochun is interested indeed. So interested that he’s slowly turning the color of someone about to puke on their shoes.  
  
“Yoochun.”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“Look at me.”  
  
Yoochun looks up at him reluctantly. In spite of the suit and tie and nearly ten years that have stretched since then, he looks very much like the young man who used to sulk by the window back in the days when Changmin still lived at Junsu’s, when he did not pay him enough attention to Yoochun’s liking. The memory brings a smile to his lips and Changmin casts a glance around. The small alleyway he dragged the older man to earlier is still well empty, and he leans forward for a quick peck on the older man’s lips. Still absurdly efficient. Changmin looks at Yoochun, thinking it’s ridiculous how he can literally _see_ all negative thoughts vanishing from the other’s mind.  
  
“Now you’re listening.”  
  
“You just-“  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But we’re in the street.”  
  
“So?”  
  
Yoochun opens his mouth. Changmin arches an eyebrow and protests die on the older man’s lips, leaving him hanging with his mouth half-open and a slightly dazed expression on his face.  
  
“We’ve spent _hours_ preparing this interview together, haven’t we?”  
  
Yoochun nods.  
  
“You know you’re ready.”  
  
Another nod.  
  
“You’re going to do great.”  
  
A nod again.  
  
“Now close your mouth.”  
  
Yoochun shuts his mouth, looking half-sheepish and half-annoyed and entirely too in love, but not so nervous anymore, and Changmin mentally gives himself a good pat on the back.  
  
“You’re going to be late” he adds, taking the older man’s arm and gently maneuvering him toward the alleyway’s entrance – the newspapers’ main office being just across the street. “Go inside, and remember you need to ask after Ms. Song.”  
  
“Okay…” Yoochun utters slowly, and seems to shake himself out of autopilot mode. “Okay” he adds more firmly, taking a couple steps forward before he turns back and throws him a quick glance, looking slightly embarrassed, “and thank you.”  
  
“My pleasure” Changmin smiles, hands in his pockets, uncomfortably feeling like he’s sending his son away for his first day at school – worried yet proud – not that Yoochun will ever know.  
  
“I’ll call you when it’s over” the older man goes on, delaying the moment to go of course. “To tell you how it went.”  
  
“No need” Changmin’s grin widens as he motions toward the end of the street and the chain coffee shop they left just thirty minutes ago, after yet another cheering up session – supposedly the last one. “I’m going to wait there” he adds, trying not to look too amused at Yoochun’s scrunched up face.  
  
“But, you-“  
  
“I took the day off” Changmin adds, “just in case. After this I’m all yours.”  
  
Ten seconds later Yoochun all but prances toward the newspapers’ head office and his dreaded job interview. Changmin can’t help but shake his head, and not for the first time wonders how Yoochun would have survived all those years if it wasn’t for him. Or what he’d have done of all that time himself if Changmin had had no Yoochun to keep busy and on a constant high level of alert. Which all comes to more or less the same thing now – that it’s good they found each other, otherwise doomed respectively to a likely death or an entire life of senselessness and boredom.  
  
  
 _~  
  
  
▪ What have you done again_  
  
 _…?_  
  
 _More specific please?_  
  
 _▪ Don’t_  
  
 _▪ Just_  
  
 _▪ Damn_  
  
 _Sentences, Changmin-ah_  
  
 _▪ Shut up_  
  
 _▪ Why am I in a train for the airport now???_  
  
 _:)))_  
  
 _▪ I said DON’T_  
  
 _▪ What the hell did you tell my boss???_  
  
 _Uuh that’s a secret_  
  
 _▪ She was nearly crying it was CREEEPY_  
  
 _▪ What did you tell her???_  
  
 _▪ Why am I on leave??! I can’t be on leave! I have work to do!!_  
  
 _Not anymore_  
  
 _And she’s not creepy, she’s super nice_  
  
 _▪ Oh god…_  
  
 _She is! We talked about you! A lot!!_  
  
 _▪ No you didn’t_  
  
 _And she said she had no idea what you were going through, you never said a word, that must be so hard, and then of course she agreed with me you needed holidays! :)_  
  
 _▪ What. Did you. Tell her._  
  
 _▪ Yoochun I’m serious_  
  
 _She had tears in her eyes I swear, I was so touched I nearly cried too TT__TT_  
  
 _▪ WHAT HAVE YOU DONE_  
  
 _▪ Where are you now??? I can’t go on holidays!! I haven’t prepared anything!!_  
  
 _Well you’re going though_  
  
 _Your luggage is with me_  
  
 _▪ …_  
  
 _And I’m waiting for youuuu <3_  
  
 _I’ll tell you where to go once you reach the airport~_  
  
 _▪ Can’t you at least tell me WHERE we are going?_  
  
 _No_  
  
 _▪ It’d better not be Australia_  
  
 _You’ll see_  
  
 _▪ You’re the worst_  
  
 _< 3_  
  
 _▪ Don’t_  
  
 _▪ I’m angry at you_  
  
 _Yes_  
  
 _▪ Really angry_  
  
 _Yes_  
  
 _▪ You’re insane_  
  
 _Yes_  
  
 _▪ Completely crazy_  
  
 _Yes_  
  
 _▪ I love you so much_  
  
  
  
  
  
An airport is one of those places were important things happen all the time, and where no one notices.  
  
The man is alone, sitting on a bench with his black coat folded on the empty seat on his right. Oblivious to the noise and agitation around him, his full attention on the phone in his hands, his luggage beside him. On top of a small suitcase, a bouquet of red roses. Barely a handful of people notice, and while some of them do a double take and throw him a curious glance, none stops long enough to catch the important things here.  
  
And yet.  
  
There are the man’s fingers… brushing lightly over the screen of his phone, slow and careful, as though he’s scared to damage the words he’s reading. His eyes as they earnestly go over those same words again, and again, and the fondness in them. The fragility too. And the smile that rises to his lips… a smile that words cannot describe. A smile without words but with a story, because here, in that one place and at that exact moment, in this very smile, there’s that man’s entire life.  
  
A man sitting alone in the middle of a crowded airport, and as busy as you are, if you cared to look at him – really look – and if you cared for the small important things, you’d see his heart, and the lights it shelters. The distant yet burning glow of the falling stars you were told to wish upon.

 


	18. Epilogue - Of important things (Part B)

Changmin is 17 and an awkward teen.  
  
Junsu says all teens are by definition awkward. Changmin disagrees. Actually, he’s very aware of the fact that he belongs to the specific kind of awkward that makes your life hell for the best part of your teenage years. Not that he intends to do anything about it: he does not believe there’s any issue with the person he is, and if he does not fit your usual high school standards then too bad. Changmin is not going to pretend to be someone he isn’t for the sake of going along with people he does not exactly like and who obviously all hate him.   
  
Changmin is 17 and he has no friends.  
  
Junsu always complains when he says that… Junsu enjoys vehemently reminding him once every two weeks that he _is_ here, and what is a friend if not someone who hangs out with you, knows your favorite snacks and video games tactics by heart, lets you call them the worst things without batting an eyelid, and occasionally tries to make life a little easier for you – “Changmin it’s not so complicated, you could just try being _nice_ sometimes, you know, it really helps”. Junsu is here, true. That’s it. He’s here, just like Changmin is here, and neither of them had a say in the matter.  
  
Changmin is 17, awkward, and he has no friends.  
  
He’s also smart – too smart for his own good as Junsu also likes saying whenever Changmin gets into trouble, if only because too smart is better than too awkward, and at times Changmin’s wounded pride needs that sort of soothing words. And Changmin is proud indeed… proud, stubborn, straightforward and very confident in his own abilities and decisions. With a strong tendency to make each and every misfortune that occurs to him into a personal challenge, which is why today he’s still up at 4am, vengefully working on an essay due next week. He’s going to ace that one.  
  
He’s going to _crush_ Chu-Young and wipe the guy’s self-satisfied expression from his face – will serve him right after the nightmare that was yesterday’s sports class – and their teacher will have no choice but to congratulate him even though she does not like him _too_ – all because he tells her when she makes mistakes.  
  
He’s halfway through the fifth page when his cell phone suddenly rings and Changmin startles, his pen ripping on the paper. No one ever calls him – except Junsu, but Junsu sleeps like a baby, programmed to be in bed at 10pm and wake up the next day at 7am sharp. He lets the phone ring once, twice, looking at it without moving, not sure what it could be. The phone rings a third time and Changmin shakes himself out of it. He picks up, blurting out the only sensible thing he can think of.  
  
“It’s 4am.”  
  
The noises that come out from the other side of the line sound like someone is experiencing speech for the first time of their existence and failing to arrange syllables into intelligible words. Changmin’s apprehension that it might be one of his classmates coming up with a brand new bullying idea disappears. He doesn’t know that voice.  
  
“…Who is it?” he asks, already 99% convinced that whoever is on the line right now is either drunk or high on something illegal, or both.  
  
“I’m 12” the stranger answers after a very long pause, in a somewhat confident tone that does not cover up the slur in his voice. Changmin can’t help but roll his eyes. Drunk, definitely. He should hang up but something – that weird answer, the late hour, or the welcome distraction from the bitter feelings that have chased him all day – prevents him from doing so.  
  
“Are you sure?” he goes on instead, deciding he might as well have some fun at the expense of whoever was thinking of pranking him.  
  
“…What?”  
  
“You sound older than that.”  
  
There’s a silence. Then the guy starts giggling, a communicative kind of laughter that brings a smile to Changmin’s lips. He puts his pen aside on the desk, his essay temporarily forgotten.  
  
  
  
Ten minutes later not only is his essay forgotten, but Changmin also erased from his mind all thoughts of Chu-Young, teachers, classmates, and the awkwardness of teenage years. He’s grinning widely, listening to whoever is calling him – 12 it seems, at least he’s adamant that’s his name – and occasionally feeding him quick questions and comments that invariably trigger a new uncontrolled flow of mixed absurdities and deeper thoughts on life.  
  
Changmin learns that there is a friend called Jaejoong… that actually there are many other friends who are most certainly just as wasted, and that 12 drunk-singing is the most entertaining stuff he’s heard since his father decided to butcher Changmin’s cousin’s favorite song at her wedding last year. He also learns that 12 thinks high-school is ‘a big fat lot of bullshit’ (not the words Changmin would have used but he wholeheartedly agrees with the general spirit of it), that university is even worse (now that’s not good news), that there’s a pimple on Jaejoong’s forehead, and that 12 is sad because he never had a childhood dream and it really sucks, because only people with childhood dreams get to do something of their lives.  
  
It’s nearly 6am when they end the call. The night sky is already clearing as Changmin goes to bed and curls up under the covers, feeling wide awake in spite of a sleepless night, with a weird warm feeling floating inside his chest – like something good happened. Like it could be important.  
  
And for some reason, taking his phone a few hours later to text the stranger who kept him up till dawn seems just the natural thing to do.  
  
  
~   
  
  
_I’m thinking, one question each every day_  
  
 _It could be fun!!_  
  
Changmin contemplates his phone, unconsciously gnawing on his lower lip as he tries to think of the possible unwelcome implications of 12’s suggestion. The morning bus is filled with the usual ruckus of his fellow students, whom he’s making a point _not_ to be a part of – huddled by the window, schoolbag held protectively on his knees and sitting at the front of the bus, as far as possible from the back of the vehicle where The Cool Ones are busy noisily reasserting their claim on their territory. Chu-Young being the noisiest of them all.  
  
12 texts him again, and as he opens the messages, Changmin thinks absently that this is the most he has ever used his cell phone. Even Junsu noticed, but Junsu is convinced it’s a girlfriend. Bless him.  
  
 _And we’ve to answer the truth_  
  
 _:)_  
  
The truth. That does strike a chord, but while the idea sounds harmless, Changmin’s instinctive wariness when it comes to _people_ is urging him to be careful.  
  
He starts typing a reply – _it’s a bad idea, there’s nothing interesting to ask to begin with_ – when he thinks he hears his name amidst the surrounding agitation. As if to confirm his suspicions Chu-Young’s obnoxious laughter rises a second later, and Changmin purses his lips, reminding himself darkly that he does not care because whatever Chu-Young says about him will always be irrelevant.  
  
He glances down and on his phone, 12’s smiley face is looking up at him hopefully.  
  
Without thinking, his fingers erase his unfinished text and replace it with an ‘ _Ok_ ’ that Changmin deems way too eager as soon as he sent it. So he promptly adds a reservation about those questions – nothing to do with their identity.  
  
 _Sure_  
  
At the back of the bus, Chu-Young and his friends start playing music at full volume and singing along, though to him it rather sounds like they’re holding a contest of who has the lousiest voice. “Morons” Changmin mutters under his breath. But he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he suddenly remembers 12 serenading him with the national anthem at 4am. He wishes he had recorded it.  
  
And his fingers apparently have a mind of their own.  
  
 _▪ What are you most afraid of?_  
  
12’s answer comes at once, and Changmin thinks the guy couldn’t care less about looking eager.  
  
 _Ghosts._  
  
Couldn’t care less about looking cool either, and Changmin’s grin widens as another text comes in.  
  
 _What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?_  
  
 _▪ Crossing the road without looking_  
  
That’s the truth. The uncool truth, but whoever 12 is, it seems in general he couldn’t care less what Changmin thinks of him, and that puts him at ease. And the next ten minutes of 12 ranting because he missed his bus stop – _don’t you laugh_ and _you’re way too distracting_ – make it entirely worth it.  
  
  
~   
  
  
_Are you right-handed or left-handed?_  
  
 _▪ Right-handed_  
  
 _▪ Do you practice any sport?_  
  
 _Oh god no_  
  
 _Ofc I don’t_  
  
  
  
  
 _The most ridiculous thing you’ve ever agreed to do?_  
  
 _▪ Let my sister paint my nails_  
  
 _Cute :)_  
  
 _▪ No_  
  
 _▪ It was her birthday, she cried until I let her do it_  
  
 _▪ Do you have a girlfriend?_  
  
 _A boyfriend ;)_  
  
  
  
  
 _Do YOU have a girlfriend?_  
  
 _▪ No_  
  
 _▪ Is Jaejoong your boyfriend?_  
  
 _No_  
  
  
  
  
 _▪ Can you whistle?_  
  
 _No_  
  
 _Can you touch your nose with your tongue?_  
  
 _▪ I can’t_  
  
 _You just tried, didn’t you? :)_  
  
 _▪ That’s two questions_  
  
 _Yeah yeah yeah_  
  
 _I know you did_  
  
  
  
  
 _So just to be sure_  
  
 _Did you try to touch your nose with your tongue yesterday?_  
  
 _▪ Yes_  
  
 _:))))_  
  
 _I KNEW IT_  
  
 _▪ When was the last time you had ice-cream?_  
  
 _Uuuh last summer I guess_  
  
  
  
  
 _▪ What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?_  
  
 _Vanilla_  
  
 _Ok, what’s this ice-cream obsession about??!_  
  
 _It’s January! It’s freezing!!!_  
  
 _▪ Ice-cream is good any time_  
  
 _▪ ^^  
  
  
~ _  
  
  
It’s Changmin’s sister who once told him he needed to fix his awful texting habits. According to her, the blatant lack of emoticons, punctuation and other subtleties of the messaging language – such as Junsu’s compulsive ‘kekeke’ – made it sound like he was constantly angry.  
  
She was also the one who suggested throwing in some ‘^^’ once in a while.  
  
Changmin used not to bother, but he finds himself using that trick more and more often with 12, for some reason wanting to be careful this time around. Parsimoniously at first, having to remind himself about it and mostly adding them as an afterthought after a string of maybe-too-curt texts. Until his now signature ‘^^’ invades their conversations, the quiet evidence of the increasing importance he grants to the person that’s becoming less and less a stranger, and more and more someone _close_.  
  
  
~   
  
  
_▪_   _Something that makes you angry?_  
  
 _Jaejoong_  
  
 _▪_   _But he’s your best friend_  
  
 _Worst decision of my life_  
  
 _Will you be my alibi if I end up murdering him someday?_  
  
 _▪_   _No_  
  
 _Was worth a try_  
  
  
  
  
 _▪ Where were you born?_  
  
 _Seoul_  
  
 _What’s the last pic you saved in your phone?_  
  
 _▪ Grocery list_  
  
 _Ouch…_  
  
 _▪ It’s not that bad, just helping out._  
  
 _You should complain more you know_  
  
 _You never complain_  
  
 _I complain a lot!!!_  
  
 _▪ And it’s a good thing?_  
  
 _Ofc it is!_  
  
 _People who complain a lot live much longer :)_  
  
 _And before you ask, it’s scientifically proven!_  
  
 _I read that in a science magazine_  
  
 _▪ So you do read sometimes_  
  
 _That’s low_  
  
 _▪ ^^_  
  
  
  
  
 _▪ Do you like board games?_  
  
 _Depends if I win_  
  
 _I am a sore looser :)_  
  
 _What about you?_  
  
 _▪ I’m a bad loser too ^^  
  
  
~_  
  
  
Changmin hums to himself, rearranging for the third time the stuff in his backpack ahead of tomorrow’s trip back home. The sound of his own voice distracts him from the otherwise dull silence around – a rare occurrence here, in a dorm supposed to host twelve high school boys on a field trip’s last evening. His classmates’ things are all over the place; dirty clothes piling up on top of shelves and in open suitcases, muddy shoes shoved under camp beds, sweets wrappings and empty soft drinks cans scattered on the floor.  
  
The surrounding mess looks innocent enough – your typical teenagers’ lair – however Changmin knows better, having seen them all steal away the minute they were done with dinner. He has a rather good idea of where they all ended up again. The countryside town they stayed in the past week sees few tourists stopping by, and from what he heard, the owner of the bar down the main street gladly turns a blind eye when a hoard of high school students barges in claiming to be of age.  
  
Changmin being known not to turn a blind eye on this sort of thing, he was not invited.  
  
He finishes packing, carefully wrapping last the gemstones wristbands he got as presents for his sisters (rumored to bring good luck), the postcards he got for his father (supposedly hand painted) and the herbal tea leaves for his mother (for good health). Changmin has few illusions about the actual provenance of that pricy ‘local’ craftwork, but he knows that gifts are on the list of what his family is expecting field trips to be. Gifts, pictures, and fun stories.  
  
Changmin picked nice gifts, and took lots of pictures. As for fun stories…  
  
He stops humming, looking around the empty dorm, and his heart tightens. He isn’t sure why, since he doesn’t particularly enjoy the idea of sneaking out to break the law and get drunk with classmates he was never able to get along with in the three years of high school they spent together. The less he sees them the better, and they made it quite clear it was reciprocal. In a way, tonight is nothing but another version of what kept reenacting for the entire trip – or the entire year. There’s the last class event before high school ends, there’s a group of now close friends about to say goodbye, there’s where fun stories are supposed to happen, and as usual Changmin simply doesn’t belong.  
  
He sits down on the edge of his bed – the only one that’s properly made – and realizes too late that this last train of thought brought a few stupid tears to his eyes. He wipes them away angrily and fishes inside his pockets until he finds his phone, glad that he saved today’s question till now.  
  
 _▪ What do you do when you’re sad?_  
  
This one is quite personal for a change, but Changmin doesn’t think twice about it. Nowadays Junsu is busy with an interschool soccer competition, and all the comfort he’s able to get comes from 12’s too short and too little words. Changmin doesn’t know how to tell him that they are not quite enough. That he’d like more. That he maybe even needs it already – because that means exposing himself, but it’s been barely five months since they started talking and he’s not ready to take that chance just yet.  
  
Minutes tick away slowly in the now dark room, fading in silence and shadows, building up the heaviness inside his chest. It’s that feeling again… the feeling of being _wasting_ something, and it makes him feel foolish, too weak, too young, everything he’s striving not to be. But tonight he can’t find it in himself to shake it off, so Changmin stays here, staring down at his phone anxiously, waiting for the answer that means that someone cares. Until his phone vibrates, signaling a new message.  
  
 _I go out with some friends._  
  
Changmin reads it, and reads it again. He inhales deeply and curses him under his breath because 12 really sucks, and _seriously now…_? It’s about the last thing he wanted to read at this time. He clenches his teeth and starts typing a text around those lines and worse, when another messages comes in.  
  
 _Say the 1st word that comes to your mind?_  
  
Changmin stares. He deletes everything he wrote, and again doesn’t think twice before typing his answer. It’s easy, but it’s only easy with 12. _‘The truth’_ , they said.  
  
 _▪ Lonely_  
  
It’s easy with 12 and impossible with everyone else.  
  
Changmin presses ‘Send’ and waits again. He waits for what feels like an awfully long time. He waits long enough to realize that probably 12 is busy with his own life and has better things to do than comfort an emo kid whose name he doesn’t even know. He is looking around for his pajamas – at this point he might as well just sleep it off, and they leave early tomorrow – when a string of texts finally comes in.  
  
 _Sorry Jae called cos I’m late_  
  
 _Super late tbh_  
  
 _So he was super pissed_  
  
 _I think he’s gonna kill me_  
  
 _Pls tell the police that if I suddenly disappear ok?_  
  
That nearly brings a smile to Changmin’s lips. For a fleeting second he’s tempted to reply ‘of course that’s what friends are for’ except it sounds weird and too serious, plus he isn’t sure that 12 thinks of him as a friend.  
  
 _▪ Don’t overdo it_  
  
 _You don’t know Jae, I’d rather be prepared_  
  
 _Anyway_  
  
 _I see something green, what is it?_  
  
And Changmin smiles.  
  
  
~   
  
  
_▪_   _What was your favorite topic at school?_  
  
 _Break time! :)_  
  
 _▪_   _Of course…_  
  
 _Do you play video games?_  
  
 _▪_   _Yes_  
  
  
  
  
 _How much time to brush your teeth?_  
  
 _▪ 3 minutes_  
  
 _You’re so irritating_  
  
 _▪ What’s your earliest memory?_  
  
 _Riding a bicycle_  
  
 _I think I was 4? My dad says I was, he taught me :)_  
  
  
  
  
 _▪ Did you vote today?_  
  
 _Uuuh I was sure you’d ask this_  
  
 _▪ Elections are important._  
  
 _Yeah, yeah, I get it_  
  
 _And yes I voted_  
  
 _You want to know who I voted for?_  
  
 _▪ You’re not allowed to tell anyone_  
  
 _For that girl, the youngest one_  
  
 _She was the prettiest_  
  
 _:)_  
  
 _▪ Really nothing matters to you, isn’t it?_  
  
 _That’s not true_  
  
 _▪ Then what?_  
  
 _You matter <3_  
  
 _▪ Stop it_  
  
 _▪ I meant important things_  
  
 _Exactly_  
  
 _Did you get the results of your uni entrance exams?_  
  
 _Tell me you beat that Chu-Young’s ass_  
  
 _▪ Of course I did_  
  
  
~  
  
  
Changmin is barely 18 when he starts university, the second youngest in his course. He’s still awkward, he still has no friends, and Junsu still gets annoyed whenever he says that. However Changmin will admit that he now has this one person who really matters.  
  
He’s 19 when he decides to switch courses from Korean Literature to Asian History, and while the issue of his academics choices is much debated at home, he doesn’t tell 12. Same goes for the painless break-up with his first girlfriend, for his little cousin’s birth, and for the redundancy program at his father’s workplace that looms over the family for four months until it’s confirmed his dad will keep his job and everyone can breathe out in relief. He doesn’t tell him because it’s clear by then that what’s important to 12 is mostly of no consequence to everyone else, and inversely.  
  
But as Changmin turns 20, the tiny pieces of life that 12 keeps singling out have become meaningful to him too.  
  
In the soft limelight of their kind banter, those unnamed parts of them have turned unexpectedly important – worthy of being noticed, of being talked and joked about, of being shared with someone else… likes and dislikes, impressions, opinions, memories, dares, games, trivial choices and hopes and fears that were not meant to be seen and told but suddenly found light, and surprisingly they shone. Myriads of mundane details he digs into daily, searching for the precious questions and answers that will keep a treasured connection alive. They make every day feel special. They make his own existence that much more substantial – just because someone cares.  
  
As Changmin turns 20, he sort of wants to think that he may have one friend.  
  
  
 _~  
  
  
What’s your zodiac sign again? _  
  
_▪ Aquarius_  
  
 _Ok let me see_  
  
 _Wow you’ve a really shitty love forecast this month_  
  
 _▪ Nice_  
  
 _▪ Do you like traveling by train or plane better?_  
  
 _Never been on a plane_  
  
  
  
  
 _▪ Have you found your keys?_  
  
 _Yup, they were at Jae’s_  
  
 _Do you get along better with your mother or your father?_  
  
 _▪ My father_  
  
  
  
  
 _▪ What’s your favorite hot drink?_  
  
 _… oookay._  
  
 _You’re doing this on purpose right?_  
  
 _I mean, rn aircon is the only thing stopping me from melting_  
  
 _And the whole country is having panic attacks looking at forecasts for next week_  
  
 _I think even my dad is starting to believe that global warming is a thing_  
  
 _▪_   _Climate change_  
  
 _???_  
  
 _▪_   _It’s climate change, not global warming_  
  
 _▪_   _It’s different_  
  
 _▪_   _Technically_ _^^_  
  
 _…whatever_  
  
 _Latte, best with cinnamon_  
  
 _What’s yours?_  
  
 _Wait let me guess_  
  
 _Hot chocolate?_  
  
 _▪_   _With whipped cream ^^_  
  
  
  
  
 _What’s the longest time you spent without sleeping?_  
  
 _▪_   _About 30 hours I think_  
  
 _▪_   _What’s your favorite word?_  
  
 _Uuh I honestly have no idea_  
  
 _You get another question_  
  
 _▪_   _What was your nickname as a kid?_  
  
 _My favorite word is ‘ludicrous’_  
  
 _▪_   _…_  
  
 _▪_   _You don’t even know what that means_  
  
 _:))))_  
  
  
~  
  
  
Changmin carefully marked the date, and has been counting days for nearly one week now. Okay, make it two weeks. Not that it’s _such_ a big deal, but it actually is… kind of. For them. Well, at least, for him. Unless he made it a big deal just by overthinking it too much. Of all the peculiar aspects of his relationship with 12, the most unsettling one is the overthinking.  
Changmin usually doesn’t _do_ overthinking but again, he is slightly nervous tonight, looking at 12’s question for today – left unanswered till now – and waiting for the right timing to reply.  
  
 _What country do you want to visit most?_  
  
Changmin has his answer ready, but he won’t send it until the last moment because he wants be sure he’ll get to ask the next question. It’s arguably a little childish – like that thing his sister does, taking pride in being the first to wish him his birthday every year by calling at midnight exactly. He hopes 12 won’t find it childish.  
  
Changmin is 20 and he isn’t childish.  
  
If anything, 12 is the childish one, and Changmin will clearly tell him that if the other starts making fun of him for actually marking the day. 12 doesn’t need to know that Changmin also regularly checks how much time it has been since they ‘met’ each other. They passed the 1000th day at the end of August but he didn’t dare pointing _that_ out because it would have been the worst combination of nerdy and creepy. He figures he’d rather look childish.  
  
Overthinking.  
  
Changmin buries his face in his pillow and groans in frustration, wondering for the umpteenth time why he cares so much what 12 will think. He isn’t even sure _why_ he wants to send this… it’s just that it seems important – more precisely, the kind of ‘important’ that’s important to 12. The kind of trivial detail that only means something to the two of them, no one else. And Changmin likes that they share something special.    
  
He wonders if 12 thinks it’s special too.  
  
He sometimes considered asking that very question, but he’s painfully aware that no matter how casually he phrases it, the outcome will turn out mortifying on some more or less disastrous level – not only childish but insecure, needy, clingy, cheesy, and plenty of other adjectives that definitely don’t apply to Changmin. Not to mention, 12 would have to answer the truth and there is always the possibility that it is _not_ what Changmin expects it to be, which would made the whole fiasco ten times more humiliating, maybe even put an end to their talks altogether, and here look who’s overthinking again.  
  
Changmin raises his head before the temptation to smother himself in his pillow becomes too strong. His gaze falls on the clock on his bedside table, which reads _23:59_. He startles and rushes to grab his phone, hastily pressing ‘Send’ before it’s too late.  
  
 _▪ Italy_  
  
The digits become _00:00_ mere seconds later and mercifully there is no time for more overthinking.  
  
 _▪ How long has it been since we started this game?_  
  
There.  
  
Changmin remains unmoving, staring at the phone in his hands, wondering why again he tortured himself all evening over 10 little words, incidentally depriving himself of two hours of much needed sleep just a couple weeks before his end of term exams.  
  
 _Three years :)_  
  
The answer shows up on his screen and he doesn’t realize at once that 12 just replied. He breathes out and unconsciously relaxes, a small smile tugging at his lips, but doesn’t get to be relieved for long.  
  
 _You actually timed that one? :))))_  
  
Blood rushes to his cheeks and Changmin falls back face first into his pillow, wishing he could die right now.  
  
  
~   
  
  
_Can we meet?_  
  
The question catches him unaware as Changmin is leaving his morning class. He freezes, causing the student behind him to bump into his back and drop his books. Several people rush to help pick them from the floor but it takes several seconds before Changmin snaps out of it and notices the commotion around him. When he finally does and turns around to offer his help however, the malevolent glare the guy is shooting at him is deterring, to say the least. Probably someone else he managed to offend one way or the other. Maybe resenting his sharp tongue. Or his good grades. Or both. Changmin isn’t lying when he tells his sisters he has quite a reputation around the university, but truth is, it’s a complicated one.  
  
He deems it wiser to retreat after a few rushed apologies and hastily walks away from the scene, his phone held tightly in his hand.  
  
He had not expected that.  
  
  
  
The next three days, Changmin gets to experience yet unexplored levels of overthinking _ness_.  
  
Beyond the long list of obvious reasons why he isn’t very confident about introducing himself as, well, _himself_ – especially the first impression, he knows he’s _really_ bad with first impressions, that’s where he ruins everything nine times out of ten – Changmin also hates the idea that, inversely, he might end up being disappointed in 12.  
  
Of course he’d like to meet him, has imagined it before, has dreamed of how great it would be if their current relationship translated perfectly into a real life one. Except Changmin is acutely aware that the 12 he knows is different on some level from the person 12 really is. The question is _how_ different, or rather, does Changmin _want_ different?  
  
He likes what they have now.  
  
He likes 11 and 12 and the comfortable balance they’ve reached. Indeed it’s sometimes unsatisfying, frustrating, _not_ _enough_ , but Changmin needs it too much to jeopardize all of it without a second thought. After all, meeting each other could well mean trading a reliable, caring, unique maybe-friend for a stranger. Also sending years of maybe-friendship down the drain.  
  
Seen from that angle there isn’t much to hesitate about and a ‘No’ is the obvious answer, but it’s not that simple. Because, Changmin realizes after a while, there’s trust too – that they have not held on so long for everything to collapse so easily. There’s hope as well – that 12 really could be the friend Changmin imagined him to be. After more than three years, there’s also curiosity, yearning, impatience, the growing urge to see for himself if what they have is indeed special. And perhaps a distant warning at the back of his mind whispering that it’s time to move onto the next stage if they don’t want to fade.  
  
Changmin thinks and thinks and after a few days eventually gives up on trying to rationalize a situation which, frankly, is looking more and more like an ultimatum. And the fact that 12 has not sent any message since is not helping at all. Maybe he decided to end it if Changmin sends ‘No’. Maybe he already doesn’t see the point anymore.  
  
Maybe he’s somewhere out there half-dying out of sheer anxiety, praying that he didn’t just make one fatal mistake and desperately waiting for Changmin to answer.  
  
And as dramatic as this image might be, it’s what finally prompts him to say _‘Yes’_ , because of all possibilities that one still feels the closest of what he hopes 12 to be.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Saturday, 3pm. Myeongdong station.  
  
Changmin arrived 20 minutes early and since he had nothing better to do, he sat down on a bench inside the station and once again went over his list of _do's and don'ts_. He vowed to at least not screw up the first impression this time. Easier said than done, but he figures that with adequate restrain – don’t open that big mouth of yours unless you have to – and a bit of auto censure – if it’s anything that might be categorized as offensive, insensitive, judgmental, or whatever it is about him that the rest of humanity agrees to dislike, then _don’t_ say it – it should be safe enough.  
  
Now, if Changmin stopped to think about it, he’d realize it’s the first time he cares so much what someone will think of him. As it is he’s too busy fighting off a mild panic attack while listing in his head all the things 12 once said that might save the day if it comes to that.  
  
12 likes summer. He loves kids, likes driving, hates vegetables and couldn’t care less about those American series the whole world seems to be watching nowadays. 12 doesn’t even have a TV, but he likes reading newspapers and manwhas, and listening to music – all kinds of music. He once joined a drawing class. He once joined a writing course. He once joined the neighborhood’s church choir too. He doesn’t do sports but he likes watching the Olympics. 12 also likes ridiculous bets and random trivia – _‘did you know fire is blue in space?’_. He hates waking up early, he knows Seoul’s subway map by heart, and he used to believe that a family of bears lived in the highway tunnel near his home.  
  
2.55pm. Changmin breathes out and mentally gives himself a good shake. He gets up, slowly makes his way toward the station exit and climbs the stairs until he’s outside, all the while berating himself for being so nervous.  
  
The hotel 12 told him about is easy enough to spot, however there are many people here who for some reason all seem to be waiting. Changmin stops after a few hesitant steps forward and scans the small crowd anxiously. His gaze sweeps over suitable candidates and he discards them one after the other, until he spots one particular person, this one… this one guy might very well be 12.  
  
Around his age, playing with his phone, occasionally glancing toward the subway station. Changmin takes a minute to study him from afar, feeling increasingly nervous. His stomach twists unpleasantly. Said guy looks… well, he looks a lot of things that could very well be 12 and that Changmin prayed he would _not_ be. Smug. Fashionable. Expensive clothes and overdone haircut. Studied pose. Casual smile, thin lips, cold eyes. Confident. That air about him that he wouldn’t be able to put into words, but that strongly reminds Changmin of the kind of bully he repeatedly ran into for the past 10 years. And all this might be okay still, if he didn’t looked so obviously _bored_.  
  
Changmin frowns, failing to stop a rising wave of bad feelings ranging from disappointment to bitterness. He didn’t want to come anyway. He shouldn’t have. He turns around, his heart heavy inside his chest, and immediately stops again – there. _This one_ , ten steps away from him. Looking down. Alone. Nervous. _Familiar_.  
  
And red roses.  
  
Before he knows it, Changmin is grinning from ear to ear – already he’s walking forward.  
  
One step, a repressed urge to laugh, sudden relief that’s like breathing again. First impressions forgotten and erased. A second step, a third… part of him wants to run and he has to stifle the urge to call _him_ out, and he’s ridiculously happy that he saw him first. Faster, closer, a fourth step, another, unknowingly starting to bridge a distance that their time together will only make smaller and smaller, and that the two of them will never stop looking over, at the person on the other side – at the friend, the lover, the existence mirroring their own, tied by as many lines crossed and reformed as they shifted around to create the right space for the presence they wanted shaped around their life.  
  
Just a few steps away.  
  
  
~  
  
  
Yoochun caught movement out of the corner of his eye – fast, intent, straight in his direction – and he knew he was here before even seeing him. He reaches for the roses on his suitcase but it’s too late, already there is someone here; a tall shadow, quiet laughter, a whiff of air and a warm hand around his arm pulling him up. He rises from his seat and looks up and once again, as always, Yoochun gets caught in Changmin’s smile. The airport’s empty agitation slowly fades away, strangers, noises and colors and every other unimportant detail.  
  
Yoochun knows his smiles by heart. The ones he makes when he’s embarrassed but happy, the frozen ones he keeps for pictures, the ones of excitement and pure anticipation when he looks years younger, the soft ones, the sad ones, the aggravated ones, the ones that reach his eyes and the ones that don’t. Yoochun knows all his smiles and he loves them all, but right now, this one… _this_ smile hasn’t changed one bit. And just like years and years ago, it steals a heartbeat and effortlessly sets Yoochun’s life on a different rhythm.  
  
Just like years and years ago, and even though he hadn’t realized it back then, Yoochun once again becomes aware that this is a smile he would do absolutely everything for.  
  
This is a smile he created. This right now is the small happiness that may mean nothing to the universe, but that’s his entire world – it matters more to him than the shining feelings in Changmin’s eyes, the warmth of the hand coming to envelop his, or even the love bursting inside his chest.  
  
It is what Yoochun can do.  
  
In the small space he can reach by spreading his two arms. Within the short distance he can cover with the sound of his voice. During the limited time he was given, and that’s passing so fast.  
  
It is what Yoochun can do and what he will keep doing for as long as Changmin will let him – the one answer he found to all questions past and future, and the worthwhile difference he could bring into this world. The reason for the smile blossoming on his own face and the secret miracle of all simple meaningful things, feelings delicately opening up to the light and warmth of an endlessly rising star.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the promised epilogue is here, and "Meteors" is wrapped up at last!! :)
> 
> Sooo I always have those mixed feelings when finishing a fic so maybe that's why it took me so long to get around writing it... I guess I was not too eager to say goodbye to my happy YooMin here, since I can fairly say that writing them has brought me lots of happiness as well (and headaches, lots of headaches, especially Chun you complicated idiot *hugs him all the same*).
> 
> I hope you fill enjoy this last piece to their story - which I won't call closure since this little world of them can virtually go on for a very long time if you wish to picture them that way. As for me I've written everything I had to say about it :)
> 
> I want to once again really, really thank everyone who took time to comment on this fic from the beginning. A million thanks to all of you, comments are the best reward and make the whole journey so much more meaningful to me~ <3

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in LJ (same u/n), thought I'd get a fresh start here :)  
> So, now I'm still not sure where this story comes from exactly, the idea just kept bugging me and arranged itself on its own, and I don't know why but it somehow became YooMin. I'm not going to say too much about the whole background and purpose of this, I just hope there will be people curious enough to stick with it, since the bad news is that it's, well, SLOW.  
> The good news is that I've written it entirely already, and that this one won't join the sad graveyard of unfinished fics :)  
> I hope you enjoy it, feedback and comments are love!~


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